Musketeer one-shots and Drabbles
by Raouldehadleyfraser
Summary: One shots about our favourite leather-clad idiots. Various pairings included, but no smut. Mostly gen and friendship stories now, however. Chapter 65: In The Light of The Full Moon We Reveal The Nature of Ourselves - penultimate part of my werewolf d'Art AU
1. Not Alone

A/N: I was convinced by the wonderful ThorneofAcre to post these here as well as on my AO3 so that they can recieve "all the love they are missing out on". Well, who am I to deny them that?

**Warning: Major Character Death and all around feeeels**

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><p>Athos, Porthos and Aramis were spending the evening in the pub, celebrating another mission successfully finished. d'Artagnan was going to join them after he had escorted Constance home to her husband - when he took longer than they'd expected, Porthos and Aramis assumed that he'd simply gotten caught up "talking" to Madame Bonacieux, but Athos couldn't help but feel that something was... off.<p>

His suspicions were confirmed when Constance herself appeared in the doorway of the tavern, tears in her eyes, and looking like she was running from the hounds of hell.

"Come quickly" was what she said, "it's d'Artagnan."

All three men stood and followed her, ice in their hearts as they imagined what could have possibly happened to him. He was their responsibility now, and if anything happened to him... well, Athos in particular would be devastated - the lad showed promise, and all he wanted in life was to become a Musketeer. If whatever had happened deprived him of that chance, Athos did not think he could forgive himself.

He was laid on his bed in Constance's home. His young face was paler than any of them could remember seeing, and his bare chest was wrapped tightly in bandages which didn't quite stop the blood from leaking through. He was awake though, and reached out weakly to his friends.

"A...thos" He rasped, his voice hardly even a whisper, but his friend was there, kneeling by his side in an instant. He brushed the boy's long hair out of his face gently, watching his pained expression and laboured breathing with a heavy heart. The boy's survival was in his own hands, and who could say whether he had the strength of will left to live?

"I'm here, d'Artagnan, hush now, lad." He looked up at Constance, who was tearful and shaking. "What happened, Madame?"

Constance opened her mouth to speak, but it came out as sobs. "It... it was that awful woman. The one who frightened me, before. She'd seemed... jealous that d'Artagnan is, well, fond of me. She... she wanted to kill me, but the chivalrous idiot got in the way, and she shot him. Then she just walked away, cold as you like." Here she paused, collecting herself, and brought a sprig of forget-me-nots out of her dress pocket. "She dropped these on the ground as she left." She handed the delicate blue flowers to Athos, who stared at them in shock, as all the warmth fled from his body.

"No... no, it can't be her." He whispered, which caused d'Artagnan to open his eyes, he looked up at his friend with a frown.

"It was. 'M sorry, Athos" All was quiet, and both Aramis and Porthos came now to kneel next to their young friend. Aramis had tears in his eyes, and the look in Porthos' was dark. Athos gulped back sobs of his own, though he felt like his sorrow would drown him. The woman he loved had once again killed. Once again killed a brother.

"There is nothing you need be sorry for, lad. If... if only I'd seen my duty done, this would never have happened - you would have been safe. I... I will never forgive myself if you die, boy. So please, lad. Don't go. Stay, stay with us. You've made us young again, you've kept us together. Don't die." D'Artagnan gave him a weak smile, and he took the hand of the older man and squeezed it gently.

"I don't... I'm scared, Athos. Hurts." He admitted, tears shining in his eyes. This time Athos let out a sob, and kissed the boy's forehead.

"I know, lad, I know. But we're here, we're all here. We won't leave you alone."

"Aye." Porthos added. "You're one of us now, kid."

"Yes," Aramis agreed. "All for one and one for all."

Sighing, letting the last, difficult breath leave his body, d'Artagnan smiled at his friends, and knew that, now, at the end, he was a Musketeer.


	2. Just A Boy

Prompt: Protective!Athos

with a healthy serving of whump!d'Artagnan

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><p>D'Artagnan is silent as they drag us to whatever Godforsaken hole they are using as a base of operations - from my position behind him, I cannot tell if he is conscious. They shot him in the leg, and if his scream was anything to go by, it shattered the bone. I hope he isn't awake, and I begin to despair - because how am I ever to get us out of this if the idiot Gascon can't even walk?<p>

The worst thing is, I know what he'll say when he wakes and realises the extent of his injuries. He'll ask - no, he'll beg me to leave him behind, and that's something I don't think I can do.

They throw us in their makeshift dungeons, shackled, but not bound to the floor. I shuffle over to where the boy lay. He didn't even react as he fell. That worries me. Looking at his leg, I can see the blood seeping out of the hole in his thigh, and I know if something isn't done soon, he's going to die, or have to lose the leg. The thought of him hobbling around on one leg - d'Artagnan, so full of life and optimism, though not as naive as one would think. But innocent of many things yet. He does not deserve this. He deserves better. So much better, and I can feel a protective rage boiling up inside. This boy, however untrained he is, is one of my men, and I should have kept him safe, somehow.

Logically, I know how impossible that is.

He stirs when I've torn up my shirt and started pressing it onto the wound. He jolts awake when I tie the rest of it securely, satisfied that the bleeding, at least, is under control. He doesn't scream, though I can see he wants to.

"Easy, easy, lad." I murmur as I place a firm hand on his shoulder. He looks so lost, and there are tears in his eyes. It strikes me how young he looks - too young for such pain, and yet, he chose this life. With us. Perhaps it was because there was no one else left for him. We- Aramis, Porthos, and I are all he has in the world.

"A...th's?" His voice is so pathetically quiet and pained that I can feel my heart breaking, and I hold him close to console him, like one would a child.

"Shhh. I'm here. I'll not leave you."

"But-"

"No." I cut him off with a firm shake of the head. "We will wait for the others. I will not leave a man behind." I promise him, and, without really realising it, pressing my lips onto the top of his head. "Try to rest, d'Artagnan. It will be alright." He is so pale though - how long will the others take? Will he even last the night? I balk at the idea of d'Artagnan dead and cold on this stone floor. I cannot allow that to happen. I already have, quite literally, his blood on my hands, and I can only hope that the others hurry, because I do not want it on them figuratively as well.

But for whatever reason, the idiot farmboy is smiling at me and clumsily positions himself so that his head is resting against my shoulder.

"It was my own stupid fault I got shot." I frown down at him. Why was he bringing this up? But just as I was about to ask, he had the answer at the ready. "So stop blaming yourself, alright? I can see it all over your... face." He leaned more heavily against me.

We were quiet for a time.

"Do you think... the others will get here soon?"

"I hope so, why, what is it?" I ask, my frantic heart pounding in worry. I try not to let my voice betray that.

"Only... it's not a good thing when it doesn't hurt anymore, is it?" his voice is so small, so timid. Not at all like the bold and rash young man I have come to know and... dare I say it? Love? I gulp at his admission.

"Try to hold out a little longer, d'Artagnan. They will come. They will. You must be strong, boy." I look down and try to give him a smile. "Can you do that, for me?"

"I don't know" He admits.

"You have to try. Promise. Promise me, boy." If he hadn't been pressed to my shoulder, I wouldn't have noticed that he tried so very hard to give me a nod.

It was then that I heard the muffled sounds of fighting. Mon Dieu, I have never been so grateful for the smell of gunpowder. I can hear Aramis yelling for us even as, or so I imagine, Porthos finishes off the last of the brutes.

"HERE! Aramis! We're here!" I can hear the running footsteps, and soon enough, Aramis has knocked down the door to our cell, and Porthos has caught up with him.

"H..he needs help - quickly" I manage, and Porthos has lifted d'Artagnan from me, and Aramis unshackles me. I am beyond exhausted, but I cannot stop. Not while the boy teeters on this knife edge.

Only when he is in the safe hands of the doctor who assures me that he will survive do I let myself fall against the wall in completely shattered relief. I don't realise that there are tears running down my cheeks until Aramis offers me a handkerchief. They both look at me expectantly. They want an explanation for my behaviour. And if I'm honest - I'm not sure I have one. I know I can trust them, but I've never confided in them. I won't start now. The only one I'd ever think to tell anything is lying in my bed, pale and ill, most likely coming down with a fever due to the infection in his wound. I told him about my wife, after all. He's kept me sane, since. But I don't know if I could tell him this. But my friends need something to explain my behaviour, so I say:

"He's a boy - just a boy. He's so young"

Why can I never protect that which I love?


	3. The Best Laid Plans

Prompt: Angst. "I fought with love and called her bluff, but soon I faced my biggest fear".  
>Athos is coming to terms with the fact that he has feelings for d'Artagnan, but doesn't plan on actually telling him. But then the idiot Gascon has to go and get himself injured badly on a routine mission and suddenly Athos realises that nothing else matters and he needs to tell him how he feels - but is it already too late?<p>

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><p>Athos was decidedly not falling for d'Artagnan. The youthful enthusiasm and energy which exuded from the boy were to be admired, and perhaps envied, yes, and he was one of the finest swordsmen that Athos had ever come across, and had the heart and soul of a Musketeer.<p>

His smile -

But no, that was a line of thought which was running into dangerous territory.

Athos could not afford to jeopardize either of their reputations, or their friendship. After all, he did not think that the Gascon boy felt the same way. Of course, he looked up to him, respected him, even. But there was no way...

It was not the fact that d'Artagnan and he were both men, never that. After all, they were friends with Aramis and Porthos, were they not? And at any rate, as a noble, it was always something quietly gossiped about, that a lord might take a particular liking to a certain servant.

He simply feared heartache. The heartache of trying to love again after Anne, and the heartache he was sure to cause the boy with all of his baggage and complications. So no. It was something that, for the benefit of them both, could never be. That was that, and no more needed to be said on the matter.

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><p>It was during a routine mission when this plan of Athos's fell to pieces. It had started ordinarily enough, but they had underestimated the intelligence of their opponents, and found themselves surrounded by the enemy, of which there was a considerable number, and certainly too many to be dealt with at all quickly. The fight was long, bloody, and by the end, both Musketeers and vagabonds were tiring. They had dealt and been dealt blows, though on the four Musketeers, there weren't any that were cause for any worry.<p>

Not until, that is, one of their enemy decided to do the most ungentlemanly thing by drawing his gun on Athos, whose back was facing him, and who was engaged in combat with another of the men. D'Artagnan, however, did see, and contrived to do something about it, that something being to slam bodily into the man so that the shot went wide and lodged itself harmlessly into the wall of a stone building. He landed on top of the shooter and grappled with him on the ground for a time, before finding himself overwhelmed and feeling the cold stab of a dagger through his ribs. It was such a surprise that he couldn't even move, but when the man stood to make his escape, there was a knife thrown through his throat, by Aramis. The man fell backwards, and his body landed away from d'Artagnan, who Aramis had run over to.

Seeing that the boy was having trouble breathing, Aramis frowned and moved him into a semi-sitting position.

"Athos! Get over here, d'Artagnan's wounded. Badly." Aforementioned Musketeer stuck his last opponent with greater force than necessary and all but sprinted to their side. He saw the dagger imbedded nearly to the hilt in their young companion and choked back a gasp.

"'Thos?" The Gascon's quiet voice was a quiet rasp broke Athos's stone heart.

"I'm right here, lad. We'll get you patched up, and you'll be just fine." He looked around to see Porthos hovering just behind Aramis, his face serious and grim. "Porthos, carry him. Try your best not to jostle him. Aramis, go and get a surgeon. The best you can find. I'm sure Treville can deal with the payment." And if not, then Athos would. He wasn't the Comte de la Ferre for nothing, now.

They nodded and took on their appointed tasks.

"It doesn't feel right just leaving that in him." Porthos grumbled as they walked to their lodgings. Athos bit his lip to refrain from growling at his friend.

"I know, but if it's taken out he'll bleed to death. It might have punctured a lung" He informed him. Porthos unconsciously tightened his grip on the boy protectively, and neither say another word until they get home.

Aramis had run full throttle and beaten them to Athos's lodgings, which were, after all, the closest. And he had a surgeon on hand, one that Athos recognised from when he had wounded his shoulder.

"We'll put him on my bed" Athos told Porthos, who nodded and carried d'Artagnan up the stairs. The boy was so quiet, so still, that had he not felt the rise and fall of the boy's chest against his own body, Porthos might have thought the worst.

Athos followed him, and before the surgeon and Aramis could shoo him away, he placed a soft kiss on d'Artagnan's brow, and leaned to whisper in his ear.

"You're not giving up, Gascon. You're one of us now, remember? That means you can't just disappear whenever you like. Alright?"

And then he was unceremoniously shoved out of the way to let the two people with actual medical knowledge to work their magic.

He sat on a stool which Porthos had thoughtfully fetched for him from down the stairs. Well, collapsed onto it would be a more accurate term. He'd done what he could, and now d'Artagnan's life was no longer his responsibility, but that of Aramis and the surgeon. Dieu. He was this close to just breaking down and sobbing, but Porthos was still here. He wished he could go and get a drink, but he wanted to be sober, in case - well, just in case. He didn't want to say it, not even inside of his head. He gave a deep, mournful sigh and bent his head forward and held it in his hands, trying to steady his breathing.

"Athos?" Porthos inquired quietly. "He'll be alright. You'll see. He's in good hands"

"I know that. I do. But. I. He." Porthos frowned, before raising his eyebrows in realisation.

"Oh, Athos. You're a fool, you know that? Boy's been pining after you for weeks." Athos gave him an astonished look at hearing that.

"What? How on earth do you know that?"

"We got him drunk one night that you were away on duty." Porthos explained. "He was all teary eyed about how you'd never love him. Said some strange things about a house being burned down, too, and I'm sure he was muttering about other things too, like strange women frightening Constance or some such nonsense, but it was all pretty much gibberish other than the fact he was head over heels for you"

"Mon Dieu." Athos breathed in a whisper. "I... truly? Well. I don't know what to do."

"Idiot." Porthos admonished fondly. "Tell him."

"If I get that chance." Athos replied morosely. Porthos punched him gently in the arm 9or at least, gently by Porthos's standards.

"You will. He'll live. He has to. You told him to. He could never say no to you, Athos" He teased, wriggling his eyebrows.

"You're a menace"

"And you're a fool in love." He retorted easily. Athos chuckled a little and shook his head, but snapped around when he heard the creak of the door.

"Aramis? How is he- is he...?"

"He'll live" Aramis told them with a smile, and Athos could just about fall over with relief.

"Thank the Lord!" he exclaimed. He stood up and embraced Aramis in a brotherly hug.

"Dear fellow - are you crying?" Asked Aramis in a bemused tone. Porthos met his gaze and grinned.

"I think we should give the two love birds some alone time." He whispered in his lover's ear. Aramis's eyes widened in astonishment, and he nearly laughed from glee.

"I couldn't agree more, my dear fellow."

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><p>Once Athos had thanked the surgeon for his good work and for saving d'Artagnan, received instructions for his care, and been asked to send for the surgeon at any time that they might have need of him, Athos took his place in the chair by d'Artagnan's bedside, and sat vigil through the night, watching the reassuring rise and fall of the boy's chest. When it was nearly dawn, his eyelids flickered and Athos leaned closer to him.<p>

"Wh...here?" d'Artagnan croaked, voice hoarse. Athos propped him up a little so that he could feed him a little water.

"Easy now. You're in my room." D'Artagnan frowned in confusion.

"Why?"

"You were injured."

"Yes, that I know fine well, thank you." He grumbled, gesturing to his chest, which, other than the bandages, was bare. "Why your room though - why your home?"

Athos rolled his eyes fondly.

"because it was closer and we did not wish to risk- you very nearly died, d'Artagnan" He told him bluntly. "I would rather not lose you." D'Artagnan blushed - could Athos mean that in the way he hoped, surely not?

"You're thinking rather loudly" The older man said with a fond smile, before growing serious again. "When... when I saw you on the ground. I thought - well, that if you were dead, I don't know what I would do."

"Speak plainly, Athos. Do you care for me?" d'Artagnan asked, his sharp gaze never leaving his companion.

"I do. More than I have cared for anyone." That earned Athos a raised eyebrow.

"Anyone?"

"Indeed." And he leaned forward and kissed d'Artagnan full on the lips. And after a moment, the boy from Gascony, never one to back down from a challenge, replied in kind.


	4. Love Me?

Set not long after **The Best Laid Plans**. Drunk!d'Artagnan is adorable.

Quite a short one, but I like it anyway. (well, cuties be kissin' so y'know. there's that to be happy about)

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><p>D'Artagnan was feeling much better. He had spent a few weeks on bed-rest, which usually, he would have hated - but Athos made sure he never got bored. Honestly, the things that man could do with his mouth were positively sinful. The Gascon blushed even at the thought of it. They'd not done anything too... strenuous as of yet, but he had no doubt that when they did, it would be wonderful.<p>

Now, however, they were celebrating his recovery with a round of drinks, since he'd finally been let out of the house and able to move on his own. So, ever the lightweight, d'Artagnan was now happily drunk.

"y'r Beautiful, Athos" He told his lover, giggling to himself as he leaned on the other man - for he could not support his own weight. Aramis and Porthos chuckled and Athos groaned.

"I knew this was a terrible idea." He grumbled. D'Artagnan stared up at him with sad and innocent eyes.

"Why? Don't you love me, Athos? I love you, you know." The older man raised an eyebrow and shook his head, smiling fondly.

"I meant you drinking so much, you idiot. You've not the disposition for it, nor the fortitude." That seemed to satisfy the young man, but the other pair were having a great deal of fun watching them. Athos glared. Eventually they took their leave to make for their own lodgings.

"So you do, then?" d'Artagnan asked after a short spell of silence.

"Do what, my little Gascon?" Athos asked, a smile playing on his lips. He knew what the boy was asking, but with him in this state, it was too tempting to toy with him a little.

"Love me?" He asked. And the way that he asked - as if he were asking for permission to be loved, it both tore at his heart and warmed it. They made it back to Athos's rooms, where the Musketeer kissed d'Artagnan fiercely against the wall, as if the world were ending and he only had this one chance to press all the emotions he felt into the other man by way of his lips. He pulled away eventually, and d'Artagnan whimpered pathetically at the loss of contact.

"Is that sufficient answer for you, boy?" And Dieu, if the way that he growled the last word didn't make d'Artagnan shudder with anticipation. But he was not quite prevented from being impertinent.

"Not nearly, sir. A far more thorough and thought out answer is required." He smirked, and Athos was back kissing him even more roughly - which to be honest, he quite enjoyed.

Needless to say, the answer which he had desired was received in full that night (when they managed to make it up the stairs), and he received it gladly.


	5. A Shot, A Ride, and a Mama Bear

**This time it is Athos who is injured and d'Artagnan determinely saving his life, after the Inseparables are attacked by bandits on the road whilst on the way to visit d'Artagnan's mother.**

Might have got carried away with the character of d'Artagnan's mother.

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><p>They had been ambushed on the road by bandits on their way to visit D'Artagnan's mother in Gascony. He had not seen her since his father's death, and the Inseperables had been given leave to accompany him on his journey - though he had protested that he could manage just fine on his own, when Treville insisted that they go with him, he couldn't say no. One couldn't defy the captain of the King's Musketeers when he gave such an order. He rolled his eyes fondly at the memory of that day in the office. Such a big fuss, and for someone who wasn't even a proper Musketeer yet.<p>

Now though, he found himself glad for their company. On his journey to Paris, at least, he had had his father to accompany him. If he'd not had Athos, Aramis and Porthos by his side - well, it would have at the very least been an awfully lonely journey - and he did not particularly want to be alone with his memories - when he was, they caught up with him. So much happened in his time with his new friends. So many fights and dangerous situations. He had to admit he was glad to be getting away from it all and spending a few days with his dear mother, who no doubt would sob awfully and hug him and ask him never to leave her again. The thought of it made him smile. He wished nothing more than to see her again, the last of his living relatives - and wasn't that a strange and morbid thought? Once she was gone, he'd be the last of his family, and that was a daunting prospect, but he shook those kinds of thoughts from his mind, and simply hoped that his mother would approve of his new companions.

He paused in his musings, however, when Porthos subtly raised a hand to motion for them to halt, eyes darting furtively to locate the source of whatever disturbance had caught his suspicion. All was quiet and still - there was no branch snapping, there was no shuffle of loose shale - there weren't...

There wasn't even any birdsong. Something had definitely spooked the wildlife. D'Artagnan's hand went immediately to the hilt of his sword when he felt the strange charge in the air. It was as if the whole world were waiting for that one sign of movement with them.

Unfortunately, that one noise happened to be a gunshot - a shot which felled Athos in the blink of an eye. D'Artagnan's own gun was drawn and he whipped around and fired on the shooter, who dropped down dead where he had stood, with little fuss. But now that the first blood had been spilt, more bandits were coming out of the woods. D'Artagnan left Porthos and Aramis to deal with the rest of their enemy, as he knew they were fully capable of doing, and he leapt off his horse and ran to the side of their fallen comrade.

Athos looked pale, and his mouth was set in a grim line, but he was still conscious, so the Gascon lad had the Lord to thank for that at least, he supposed, as he ripped a clean strip of cloth from his shirt.

It's a wonder we have any left, the number of scrapes we get in, he thought absently whilst packing the wound with the cloth to stem the flow of blood and then wrapping the rest around to keep it in place.

"Athos, you still with me?" He asked, and Athos squeezed his hand in reply, too exhausted to even speak.

"Good, Alright. I'm going to try and get you onto my horse - do you think you can manage that?"

The wounded man nodded, then paused with a frown.

"Th' others?" He asked urgently. D'Artagnan stared him down with a grim determination in his eyes.

"You are no good to them wounded, besides, there were only about fifteen of them, they'll be fine." He paused when he saw that the older man was going to protest again. "You doubt them, Athos?" There was a sting in his words that made Athos concede his point.

"Get out of here, d'Artagnan!" Aramis called over, and the boy smirked at Athos, who would have rolled his eyes if they weren't half shut from exhaustion. D'Artagnan's smile fell.

"Come on, you great lump, let's get you onto the horse." He muttered, hiding his worry with annoyance. A habit which he had picked up, funnily enough, from Athos himself. He dragged him over to the horse and helped him mount (which meant he had to lift him onto the horse and then fasten his legs to the saddle so he wouldn't fall) and hopped right on behind him.

"Fight well, my friends!" He called back to the companions he was leaving behind, for now, at any rate, and he gathered up his reins and he urged his horse into a gallop. Home was hardly even two miles away, and his horse was strong, and would, he hoped beyond all hope, last at this flat out pace with two on his back.

"You still with me, Athos?" D'Artagnan asked as they galloped through the fields and past the town, getting ever closer to the farm.

"mmm."

"Come on, Athos. You have to stay awake. I'm not letting you die - not now, not when we're so close. You'll be just fine. Come on. Hang in there - can you do that, for me?" It made an interesting echo of a conversation which he was quite sure he was on the other end of at the time, but no matter.

"I... I don.. so tired" Athos complained, his voice barely more than a breath. D'Artagnan tightened his grip on the man, as if he could ward off death physically.

"You are going to stay alive, and the rewards for that are most definitely going to make it worth your while."

"Oh?" Athos asked, lips curled in mild amusement despite the pain.

"Well, I can't very well have your cock in my mouth if you're dead, can I? As far as sinning goes, sodomy's my limit." He teased easily.

"What have I done to the poor innocent Gascon farmboy - your mother might just leave me to die." He moped, but this was good, he was talking, and he was clearheaded - if he had to stoop to flirting to keep him that way, then so be it.

"Don't be an idiot. She'll love you. It's me she'll want to kill, for not visiting her so long, especially after father..." He trailed off and shook his head.

"Ah! Here we are. Stay awake just a little longer, my good man." He told him, which just earned him a baleful glare. Good, if he had enough energy to be grumpy, he was most definitely going to live. D'Artagnan hopped off the horse and called through to the barn, where he was sure his mother would be at this time.

"Mother! I have an injured friend! There are bandits hardly two miles from here, and he was shot in the shoulder. Have you any of your salve about you?" at hearing his voice, his mother dropped the bucket she had been meaning to fill with milk from old Bessie and, upon hearing of her son's friend's plight, took action - for though she was an emotional creature, she knew when best to become a practical one.

"In, bring him in. There's beds I made down the stairs for them, for Monsieur Treville sent me a pigeon he did - can you imagine anything so fancy my boy? Shouldn't seem so to you, no wonder, with all of Paris under your boots, but bring in your poor friend and I will do what I can for him." So instructed, d'Artagnan left his mother to prepare and went to lift Athos down from the horse. His lover grumbled, but allowed himself to be supported as they made their way to the front room, where indeed, beds of a sort had been made for them.

"Now then lad, off with the shirt." At his blush, the old woman chuckled. "Come now, I was a married woman, and am a mother besides. I've nothing to fear nor learn of bare-chested men. Off with it now." She instructed. It was difficult for Athos, so d'Artagnan assisted him, and if the boy's mother saw the tender care he took with his friend, well, she wasn't one to notice anything amiss in that. She took out a cloth and began to clean the offending area, checking his back to see that yes. It was a clean shot right through. She hmmed thoughtfully as she dabbed away at the dirt. "My salve can do a great deal, but it cannot work the impossible. This will need stitching. Charles, my boy, will you fetch my sewing kit? You know where it is kept." D'Artagnan nodded and scurried away. Athos watched after him until he felt something cool on his wound, it itched, but it also felt strangely soothing.

"He's rather worried for you, my boy is." She told him. Athos inclined his head in a nod.

"I suppose I should not tell you this, as it will only worry you more, but he is, more often than not, the injured party among us." Athos told her. "Damned fool always has to put himself between us and danger." The old woman paused in her ministrations and gave him a long look and a wry smile.

"Ask him about the scar on his left thigh, the next time you get the chance - he's always been reckless, and the story of that one proves he is so to a fault." Athos almost spluttered, but kept himself in check - that didn't , it couldn't mean that she knew about them, about what they were to each other - could it?

"I see the way you look at each other, lad, and I've been around for a long time. As long as you take as good care of him as you can, I've no quarrel with it." She paused, hearing her son's footsteps on the stairs. "But if you hurt my boy, you wouldn't be safe from me in the ninth circle of hell - is that clear?" He nodded so furiously that he aggravated the wound, and d'Artagnan returned with the needle and thread.

"Want me to knock you out, Athos? She'd give Aramis a run for his money." He teased, handing his mother the tools, which she put to quick and efficient use. She then bound it up using fresh linens, and stood back, quite satisfied with her work. "Well now. You should be right as rain in no time, good sir."

"Call me Athos, if it please you, Madame d'Artagnan" He told her with a weary smile, before lying down on the bed and falling asleep. D'Artagnan shared a smile with his mother, and sat next to the sleeping Athos.

"I have your bed made up for you, dear."

"I'd rather stay here, Maman. He'd always stay by my side when I was injured - it wouldn't be right if I didn't do the same." His mother smiled secretly to herself, and shook her head fondly.

"I'll bring down a pillow then, my lamb."

"Mama" He exlaimed in a whisper, absolutely scandalised.

"Oh hush" She giggled. "he's sleeping. You need not fear him stealing it to use in the throes of passion." Her son turned a gratifying shade of beetroot, and with her work done, she picked up her skirts and went to fetch that pillow.

When Porthos and Aramis eventually made it to the farm, covered with cuts and scrapes, but otherwise unharmed, though a damn sight weary, the sight that greeted them was an odd, if endearing one. D'Artagnan lay curled up against Athos's good shoulder, leaning into the crook of his neck. Athos had curled his arm around the boy protectively, and had his chin rested atop his head.

"Hush now, don't laugh" The Gascon's mother admonished them. "They deserve the rest." She gave them a analyzing gaze before tutting. "And the pair of you could do with a washing up and a plate of hot soup. Come along now." They were utterly bewildered and enchanted by her, and Aramis was at his most charming when she was wiping the blood from his forehead, which made her laugh pleasantly.

"You're a lot of silly young lads." She told them firmly, still smiling. "But I do believe you're good for my boy."


	6. Uniform

A/N: This was a little drabble inspired by the prompt of athos helping d'Art get sorted with his uniform and though it's short, I'm quite happy with it

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><p>Stepping back, Athos looked down at the boy's shoulder with a smile. The shoulder guard fit him perfectly. And he meant that in more than one way. Not only was it a nice, snug fit, which allowed him free movement of the arm, but something about it just... completed him. It was as if it had always been a part of him. Everything he'd ever done had led up to this moment. This was it. He was now, more than ever, and yet, as he had always been, one of them. It suddenly hit him with the force of a firing squad:<p>

D'Artagnan was a Musketeer.

A part of him wanted to say that d'Artagnan had always been a Musketeer - which, at heart, he had. But this was different - now he wore the uniform, now he stood proudly on equal footing with the rest of them. Athos had no doubt he would surpass them all. Tears threatened to fall when he took the hat, and smiling, placed it upon his lover's head.

There were cheers from the crowd of Musketeers behind them. Right, there were other people here. It wouldn't do to lose composure. D'Artagnan's expression was one of absolute awe - like he couldn't believe that this was really happening. He lowered his head to let Athos place the hat upon it, and stood up a little straighter when the older man placed a hand on his shoulder and gripped it firmly.

"I am so proud of you."

All for one, and one for all! Sounded in the crowd around them - and even Treville was smiling and clapping. Aramis and Porthos had the widest grins Athos had ever seen, and he gave them a nod, and they both came rushing over for an impromptu group hug.

"You are the best of us all, d'Artagnan, and you always have been."

The rest of the day past in a joyful haze that not even the Cardinal could destroy. And the night... well, the night belonged to the newest Musketeer to join the ranks, to do whatever he wished, with whoever he wished.


	7. Only Yours

A/N: Giving d'artagnan nightmares is great fun. poor boy. but there's hugs and the promise of something more at the end so yeah. with a nice filling of angst in the middle, though.

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><p>D'Artagnan woke with a start, covered in a cold sweat. Breathing harshly and blinking furiously, he remembered his nightmare with a gasp.<p>

_Athoswasdeaddeadhewasn'tmovingwhywasthatwomantherewhyisthereatreewhyistherearope-_ He took a deep breath, but he was still shaking - his whole body was trembling. He clutched his knees to his chest and tried to steady himself - it was just a dream, only a dream. Why did it terrify him so? Another flash of the dream came to him when he closed his eyes against the world.

_It was that woman. The one who had framed him for murder after they'd spent the night together. The one who'd left him forget-me-nots. Why those flowers in particular? But he was watching, helpless, bound, as she led Athos to the gallows beneath the tree - and despite d'Artagnan's protest, he followed her, as if in a daze. There were forget-me-nots again. She'd placed them into his hair. She was smirking so coldly. She was deadly. She was frightening._

**"She Frightened me, d'Artagnan**"Constance's terrified words came back to him in that moment, and he knew that the woman he'd met was more than capable of murder - what if she _did_ kill Athos? What would he do if that happened? But why would she want to do it? He shook his head and stood. There was no way he was getting back to sleep, so he opened the door to go and see if he could find himself a glass of water.

What he didn't expect when he did so, of course, was Athos himself sitting on the table with a haunted look on his face, and a bottle of wine in his hand. D'Artagnan frowned.

"I thought you were cutting down?" He asked. Athos just sighed and grunted, playing with a locket on a chain that d'Artagnan knew had come from his wife. The Gascon boy was not so much of an oblivious idiot as some people might think, so he just sat down next to his lover and sighed. "_Her_ again, is it?" he tried not to sound bitter - he really did. But he really needed the attention of his lover right now, and if some assassin ex-wife was able to take it from him without even trying, well then-

But Athos looked up at him sharply, and d'Artagnan could see tears in his eyes.

"I...she killed you. In the dream, I mean. And- I couldn't get that image out of my mind." D'Artagnan's heart did a funny little flop at that. It seemed he wasn't the only one.

"I suppose not exactly having to imagine me in a deadly situation helps at all, does it?" He asked with a humourless smile. Athos merely hummed in agreement. He put the locket down on the table and looked up at d'Artagnan uncertainly.

"What has _you_ up so early, mon petit Gascon?" He asked, and it was all the boy could do to keep from remembering - _whywasitsoclearwhywhynoAthosdon'tdieifyoudiebyhangingiamtakingitverypersonally._

He managed to smile and shake his head. "Oh, nothing really, just the fact that the bed was so _cold_ without someone there to keep it warm with me." Athos frowned at him, and shook his head.

"That's not it, d'Artagnan. Tell me." D'Artagnan's eyes darted from him to the table to avoid his gaze, and caught on the locket. It had opened with the force that Athos had slammed it down with. And inside were-

Were pressed-

Pressed forget-me-nots.

_Forget-me-nots_.

His eyes widened. That couldn't be. That was mad. No. No way. He did not have sex with Athos's ex-wife.

"d'Artagnan?" Athos reached out towards him carefully, as if trying to approach a wounded animal. "You had a dream as well, didn't you?" He nodded, slowly, as if the admittance hurt him.

"What happened?" The older man pressed. D'Artagnan just shook his head. Athos took a deep breath. He could be patient. He _could_. But the way d'Artagnan was acting was confusing him.

"There was a woman I met the first night I came to Paris. She... we. Well. And then I woke up in the morning and there was a bloody dagger on the pillow next to me and she'd kind of slit someone's throat. So then I had to run away. But then, more recently, apparently Constance met her, and told me she frightened her. And this is Constance. She. Nothing frightens her. But then i... there were... she left forget-me-nots on my pillow. Forget-me-nots."

"What happened in the dream, d'Artagnan?" Athos asked softly, realising and dreading where this was going, just what d'Artagnan's subconscious had figured out.

"She killed you. And I couldn't do anything. You didn't hear anything I said. And she. The tree. The one you were standing at, that time. She..." He broke down into sobs. Not quiet ones, either. Awful, heart-wrenching sobs which wracked his whole body. "I just... I woke up feeling so helpless and you _weren't there_."

Athos was at his side in a minute, holding the boy tight to his chest, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"I'm here now. Shh, we'll figure this out - somehow." He promised into the top of d'Artagnan's head as the boy slowly managed to get his breathing under control. He gripped Athos tightly, as if he were the only thing in the world he had left to hold onto.

"Don't ever leave me?" He asked, his voice small.

"You know I can't-" But d'Artagnan shook his head against his lover's chest, still shaking.

"Please, please lie to me. Just for now. Promise me we'll always be fine and that nothing can come between us-" He took a deep breath, trying to hold himself together. "I just need to pretend that everything's alright. That we're not in the middle of ridiculous conspiracies and murderous ex-wives and cardinals and musketeers. Just pretend we're only us."

"Just Athos" The older man murmured, and d'Artagnan nodded, glad that he understood.

"Just _my_ Athos." He added, but said man drew away, and lifted up the boy's chin so he could look at him seriously.

"Only yours, always yours. Don't doubt that, ever. That much will always be true. That much I _can_ promise. I told you before, did I not - there is only you. I care about you more than I have cared for anyone." He paused for breath, before continuing. "If anything were to happen to you, my world would be torn asunder - I know they were just dreams, but I will not let her take you from me. She will take _nothing_ from me, ever again. I would die before-" d'Artagnan glared at him.

"No dying." He insisted. "No more talk of dying, of trees, of flowers, of burning houses. And no more talk of _her_. Ever. Unless it is to tell me how utterly short she falls of my... talents" He gave a smirk, and Athos was glad.

"I think we need to figure this out in a more comfortable setting." Seeing what he was getting at, d'Artagnan raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, I admit, right now, I could definitely use some comfort sex."

"_d'Artagnan!_" Athos exclaimed, doing his best to look scandalised. "Must you country folk be so crude?" The boy just raised an eyebrow.

"I can refrain, if it please you, Monsier le Comte." He teased. Athos just about pounced on him. Well, he would

Later.

They had to get to the bedroom, first.


	8. We Wear Our Scars About Our Necks

A/N: this was for The Forgotten Nobody, who asked on tumblr for: Milday goes to visit d'Artagnan and she doesn't expect Athos to be in there and then he walks in on the two of them and is like 'what the hells going on here' and d'Artagnan's like 'wait, this is your dead wife?'

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><p>He hadn't been expecting her there - and when he saw her, he'd completely forgotten about everything else. She gazed at him so intently - it was terrifying. Constance was right. This was a bad idea, this was a terrible idea, but saying no seemed impossible, because he was quite sure she had plenty more daggers than the one she had used the first night and could kill him quite easily.<p>

"Oh, d'Artagnan, you're such a sweet little boy, don't you know that? So innocent of the sins of your fellows. What sins you have are simple." She smirked, her hand cupping his cheek as she circled around him. "Easily forgivable. Such cannot be said of many of your fellows." She had such a cold, knowing smile that it made him shudder - what could she possibly be talking about?

Seeing his confusion, she just smiled wider - a predatory grin, and she placed a hand on his chest and shoved him forcefully back onto the bed.

"Do you think he'd care..." She mused, more to herself than d'Artagnan, and his brow furrowed, confused.

"Who?" He asked, completely at a loss now. She stared at him for a long minute, as if deciding whether or not it was wise to impart the information, before leaning forward and whispering into his ear, in much the way Constance had, a while ago- "My husband, of course."

He suddenly had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. His horror must have shown on his face, for she tilted his head so that he faced her, and smiled sweetly - wickedly sweetly. "Oh, poor dear, realising you have a type." He shot her a glare. "Oh yes" She continued. "I know all about your feelings for Madame Bonacieux, _Gascon_." He frowned at that - if this woman was so truly perceptive, surely she would know that it was not Constance who held his heart, but rather Athos. But he decided to play along with it. It might just keep him alive.

But she saw the hesitancy in his eyes, and she drew her dagger, even as she straddled him. "Oh poor boy. I am a monstrous creature, I'll admit, but my husband, that disgusting man, who would have seen me _hanged-"_

She would have continued but for the fact that Athos had chosen that moment to barge through the door.

"Take your hands off him, you demon." He snarled, stepping forward. She did not stop, but merely levelled the knife in her hand at d'Artagnan's exposed throat. Athos stopped in his approach, eyes wide.

"Let him go. You have no quarrel with him." She pouted, as if she were a child and he'd decided to withhold from her a very pretty plaything. D'Artagnan just frowned, confused, until realisation dawned.

"Oh...well. This explains a lot." He grumbled unhappily.

"What?" Athos and Milady both said at the same time, before glaring at each other.

"Well, the fact that the crazy lady who framed me for slitting that guys throat in that tavern is actually Athos's ex-wife just kind of makes a lot of sense." She pressed the knife closer to his skin in recompense for that comment, and he tried so very hard not to swallow. Athos visibly paled.

"Let him go, Anne."

"I don't think I will. You seem oddly fond of the boy". Both men froze at that. Milady paused, staring between them, and a cruel smile crept upon her lips when she realised what the look between them meant. "But oh!" She exclaimed, "This is delicious. If I press but a little harder-"she did so, and d'Artagnan whimpered. She seemed to drink in the noise greedily. "your _love_ will die. And this time, this time, Athos. _You will watch._" So intent was she on this torturing of the pair, that she did not notice when Constance came up behind her, stabbing her with d'Artagnan's sword.

"That'll teach you to come into _my_ house as you please, you inhuman creature." She spat on the fallen woman for good measure. She bent over her to whisper in her ear. "No one messes with my boys and gets away with it, _Milady_." She allowed herself a triumphant smirk, but it fell away when she saw d'Artagnan desperately clutching at his neck, blood pouring through his fingers.

"Madame!" Athos called urgently. "A scarf, a piece of your dress. Anything to staunch it, and quickly!" His voice was trembling, but that did not matter right now. Constance nodded and promptly ripped her skirt, handing the torn strip to the Musketeer, who wrapped it a few times around d'Artagnan's neck, before tying it firmly - but not too tightly. The boy's eyes were wide, and Athos could see he was terrified, and he held him close, letting d'Artagnan take what comfort he could from his warmth.

"Constance, if you would, fetch Aramis, and a surgeon. Make haste." Constance nodded, and ran out of the house - where she quite literally ran into Aramis.

"Oh good, go upstairs. There was a woman and she nearly killed d'Artagnan so I killed her but he's hurt. And I'm off to fetch a surgeon so don't let him die while I'm gone!" She told him and then pushed past without another word.

Aramis wasted no time then in making his way to d'Artagnan's room after that. He saw the young man shivering in Athos's arms. And a dead woman on the floor. Must have been who Madame Bonacieux was talking about before.

"Aramis" Athos greeted. He seemed calm enough. That was a good sign. "I don't think it was overly deep, but it was still bleeding a lot." Aramis nodded thoughtfully, and gently tilted d'Artagnan's head so that the boy was looking at him.

"Well, he seems aware enough, so the bloodloss isn't too bad. And his eyes aren't glazed over, so he's not gone into shock, not yet anyway." He didn't fail to notice the way Athos's arms curled protectively around the boy at that.

"_he_ d'sn 'pr'ciate talk l'k n't th'r." D'Artagnan struggled to say. Aramis winced, and Athos growled.

"It's not wise for you do speak right now, alright?" Aramis soothed. "I promise we'll get you patched up just as soon as Constance returns. You'll be alright." He patted the boy awkwardly on the shoulder, but before they could do anything else, the young Gascon slumped in Athos's arms.

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><p>When d'Artagnan woke, he was lying on a familiar bed. Not his own, but one he knew just as well. There was someone sitting by the bedside, hand soothingly combing through his hair, whispering sweet nothings and promises of protection.<p>

He opened his eyes, and found himself staring into the face of Athos. Who had on his face such a look of relief that he seemed about to collapse from the force of it.

"'Thos?" It hurt to speak, and he winced. Athos sighed and shook his head.

"You shouldn't speak yet. It will take a few more weeks for it to heal completely. Here now. Try and drink." He pressed a cup of water to his lips, and the boy took a few tentative sips. It hurt to swallow, but it wasn't as if he had much choice. Athos smiled sadly and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"My brave little Gascon. I'm so sorry." He whispered as he pressed more kisses, one to his cheek, another to his ear, and then one on the corner of his lips, using them to plead forgiveness, which really wasn't fair, especially as there was no forgiveness needed. D'Artagnan shook his head, but when he pulled back from the bedridden idiot, Athos could see he was smiling.

"I'll go fetch Aramis to check your bandages. I won't be long." He promised. And, left alone with nothing but his own thoughts for company, d'Artagnan's mind returned to Milady, and how perfectly she'd exacted her revenge.

Oh, he might not be dead, but she'd marked him - hadn't she? He had his scar now. The same scars as her.

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><p><em>Thoughts? Ideas? Don't be a silent lurker! I thrive on reviews and ideas for new fics<em>


	9. Panic

A/N: A post episode fic for Sleight of Hand. Kind of loosely inspired by one of ThorneofAcre's drabbles

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><p><em>D'Artagnan nearly died today. <em>The thought was the one constant in Athos's mind as they were all debriefed and the Gascon had explained what had happened to him between when they searched the hideout and when they found each other again. Taking another swig of his wine, he tried to close his eyes against the images which assaulted his mind, but it only served to make them clearer.

_He was tied to the barrels of gunpowder._

_Vadim nearly blew him to pieces._

There was no way that the boy was alright after that ordeal - it wasn't possible. And yet, he'd brushed off the experience as if it were nothing - why? Why did he feel the need to pretend to be so strong? As he thought about it, Athos began to understand. _Of course_ he'd keep up a brave front when he was around the rest of them.

He'd wait till he was alone to break down and let the day catch up to him. He'd be alone, just like he had -_when he was sitting on a pile of barrels of gunpowder waiting to explode._

Making up his mind, Athos made his way to the Bonacieux's house, unsurprised to find that both Constance and her husband were out. No doubt they had business to do, daily lives to go about. They wouldn't have been told anything about the danger that the boy had been in, and Athos highly doubted that Monsieur Bonacieux would overly care, and the boy would not want to worry Constance, the fool.

The door had been left unlocked, and he cautiously made his way to d'Artagnan's room. When he did not immediately see the boy, he panicked, but then noticed him in the corner of the room, pressed against the wall with his hands wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth and staring at nothing at all. Athos gulped. This was not good. He was not good at dealing with people when they were in this state.

So he knelt down and approached very cautiously, as one might an injured animal, or an untrusting child. There was no reaction when he reached towards him - he wasn't sure he wouldn't prefer the lad to lash out at him. He would know how to cope with that. When he actually touched the boy, however, the young Gascon flinched and jumped away from him, only succeeding in crashing the back of his head into the wall. He blinked rapidly, coming back to himself. When he saw that Athos was there, he thought he might just die of embarrassment and shame. He'd seen him so weak now - why would the older man ever let him join the Musketeers now?

"D'Artagnan, whatever you're thinking, stop it right now. Just _breathe_. In, out, nice and slow until you _calm down_, alright?" d'Artagnan managed a shaky nod as he tried to do what Athos asked of him. Athos kept his hands firmly on the boys shoulders, and in return, d'Artagnan gripped his wrists, desperate for something to hold onto, something to ground him. Once his breaths evened out, he all but sagged forward towards Athos, who slung an arm around his waist and helped him to sit on the bed, before kneeling in front of him to look him in the eye.

"d'Artagnan, I want you to listen to me very closely, alright - do you think you're back to yourself enough to do that?" He asked, his voice soft, gently coaxing a nod out of the young man. "What you did - we had no right to ask that of you. You're untrained, inexperienced - you haven't been taught how to handle these situations. And I am _so sorry_ that you went through what you did because of it." D'Artagnan tried to look away, but Athos carefully tilted his face up again, his gloved thumb brushing soothingly against his cheek. "You were scared, d'Artagnan." Before the boy could protest, Athos placed a finger firmly over his lips to silence him. "That's alright. But _you_ have to accept that it's alright. You have to say something, to someone - if not us, then Constance, perhaps." He paused, sighing. "Don't just try to block yourself off from it, pretend you don't feel it. It doesn't work that way."

They were quiet for a while, neither of them moving, until d'Artagnan let out a long breath and relaxed against Athos, who pulled him into his arms, knowing that what the boy needed was physical reassurance that he wasn't alone.

"I thought I was going to die." The Gascon admitted. He was shaking again, gripping tight to fistfuls of Athos's shirt "I was all alone and I was going to die and I didn't want to die and I was so scared and then he almost got away and then he said he could have killed me and only didn't because it was a _game_ to him." He paused for breath, and Athos could tell from the way his voice cracked that he was close to tears. "I...what do I do now?" He asked, so frightened, but so hopeful - he was looking to Athos - _Athos_ - for guidance.

"I'm afraid I may not be the best example to follow." He admitted quietly.

"So you... you mean I _shouldn't_ drown my worries a seemingly endless supply of the finest wine Paris has to offer?" Athos chuckled warmly, but grew serious after a minute.

"Don't ever become like me, d'Artagnan. I... am not good-"

"If you're about to say you're not a good man, then stop. If you weren't, would you be so kind to me when... when I'm so pathetic?"

"_d'Artagnan"_ He was becoming a little frustrated now. Why didn't the boy understand. "You were nearly _blown up_. That's not - you were bound and helpless. It's not as if you were given much of a chance to defend or save yourself - not like in a duel. And yet-" He paused, sitting d'Artagnan up and placing his hands firmly on the shoulders "here you stand. Alive, and mostly whole. You are not pathetic in the slightest. You are courageous. You have a heart as true as any Musketeer's, and don't you forget it."

"But-"

"Do not argue with me, d'Artagnan" Athos warned, but noticed the boy rapidly blinking to try and stay awake. "Sleep, lad. You've had quite the ordeal today. I'll be here when you wake."

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><p><em>As always, reviews and ideas are appreciated. Though I do have a veritable mountain of prompts to get through, I always welcome more.<em>


	10. Poisoned Blade I

A/N: This was for a prompt where someone wanted a poisoned d'Artagnan. Enjoy

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><p>Porthos was entirely at a loss as to what to do in this situation. Only <em>d'Artagnan<em> could manage to get himself nicked by a poisoned dagger. The boy had been a magnet for trouble ever since he arrived, but nothing like _this_ had ever happened before.

And Athos and Aramis - the second of which would undoubtedly know what to do - were still not back from their patrol. It would be hours before they came back, and Porthos wasn't quite sure that this idiot had that long.

Porthos was no idiot, he knew that d'Artagnan would need a doctor, and fast. He was just so used to relying on Aramis that he had no idea where to find one. He was not panicking. Not in the slightest.

"P'thos?" He looked down at the boy in question, who he had just caught when he staggered backwards and fell into him. D'Artagnan was pale, and there was a sheen of sweat on his brow. His eyes were already looking glassy. Porthos's gut churned as he decided to take action.

"Come on, Gascon, I'm taking you back to Constance's, and then I'm going to find you a doctor." And with that he swept the boy easily up into his arms - and honestly, he hardly weighed anything. Had he been eating recently? If he had been more lucid, perhaps our young hero might have protested that he did not need to be carried like a swooning maiden - as it was, he was exhausted, and he didn't quite understand why.

Constance certainly hadn't expected Porthos to barge through her front door, carrying her lodger in his arms, and looking, by all counts, terrified.

"What's wrong?" She asked, rushing after him as he strode up the stairs to place d'Artagnan on the bed. If possible, he looked even paler than before, and his breath was getting raspy. Porthos didn't like the sound of that.

"Some bastard had a poisoned dagger and nicked him with it. Didn't notice until the idiot collapsed onto me." Constance nodded, and took charge of the situation.

"Right. Go and fetch some water and cloth. Keep him cool. I'm going to get Monsieur Joli, he lives close by." She paused, noticing how wary the Musketeer seemed. "I wouldn't let anyone I didn't trust near that boy, Porthos... I- he's important to me." She admitted in a whisper, and at Porthos's nod, she practically sprinted to search for the physician.

And so now Porthos was left to deal with an ill and possibly dying d'Artagnan. He wasn't like the others - he'd seen enough death to know that you can't choose who it comes for. He accepted the possibility far more easily than Aramis or Athos would have - easily, but not readily. Though he wasn't as close to d'Artagnan as Athos seemed to be - which was odd in itself, but something had clearly happened when the Gascon had gone rushing back to find the man - but that did not mean he was not fond of the lad. He brightened the place up - even if it was by getting in more trouble than seemed possible for just one man.

He carefully wiped the boy's brow with the cold water, and found himself talking, just to fill the heavy silence that he felt in the air.

"Listen, kid. I know we don't talk all that much, and all I ever do is try to get you drunk at the pub and maybe even laugh at your idiocy sometimes. But... I'd care if you died. Especially on my watch. You know they would never forgive me - don't you? Well, Aramis might, eventually, since he wants to be a priest one day. But Athos isn't the type to forgive. And your Constance - because she is, you know. Yours. Well, she'd obviously kill me if I suggested in any way she belonged to anyone but herself, but you know what I mean. You both make such obvious bedroom eyes that it's a wonder her husband hasn't strangled you yet." He paused. D'Artagnan's fever seemed to have cooled a little, but his face was still twisted in pain, and his breathing still sounded harsh. There wasn't much he could do but wait and hope that this doctor knew how to work miracles. "I guess what I'm trying to say here kid is don't die. You're kind of the glue that's holding us messed up bastards together. We need you. And there are less _extreme_ ways of getting out of training-"

The door was flung open and Porthos praised his self-control that he managed to just look up and seem mildly irritated while in reality his heart had just about jumped out of his chest. He hadn't even heard them approach.

It was not the doctor, however, but the two other Musketeers.

"We ran into Madame Bonacieux when she was looking for the doctor. We rushed straight here. How is he?"

"His breathing's gotten worse. I've not been able to do much more than keep him cool. And even that's a challenge." Aramis nodded, biting his lip in his distraction. He examined the wound on the boy's arm, which looked awful now.

"I'll need to clean that. Go fetch some clean water."

"Not your errand boy" Porthos grumbled, but hurriedly did as he was bid. When he got back, Aramis took the bowl of water gratefully and began his work. D'Artagnan seemed to be growing steadily worse, and they didn't know what to do. Athos looked completely in shock - like he was losing a son, or a brother, or something.

"Aramis-" Porthos began, as a thought occurred to him. "Do you suppose that putting him in a cold bath might help more?" He asked. Aramis frowned, and sighed angrily.

"_Dieu!_ I should have thought of that. It will keep the fever down, hopefully." He checked the boy's pulse "and perhaps it will slow his heart rate. It is too fast, too thready. If the poison goes through his entire system..." He trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. "Well, we need to buy him as much time as we can." They all nodded agreement, and Athos went to fill the bath whilst Porthos lifted the boy with the utmost care, lowering him into the water as gently as he could. It was worrying that the boy hardly seemed to react to the change in temperature, but there was little else they could do - it was up to fate, and Constance finding the physician, now.

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><p>Thoughts?<p> 


	11. Poisoned Blade II

A/N: I'm not overly fond of this chapter but meh, enjoy anyway.

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><p>As soon as the physician arrived and was ushered into the small room, he uncorked a small vial, and tilted d'Artagnan's head back to pour in the liquid. There was a tense silence in which no one dared to breathe as they waited for any sort of reaction to the antidote. It didn't seem to take effect, and the boy slumped on the bed, unmoving.<p>

"No..." Athos breathed out, his voice trembling as much as his hands as he knelt down next to the boy. "No, you can't... you can't be dead. D'Artagnan. Please, please no." Constance came to his side and buried her head in his chest to cover her tears. For a moment, there was only silence, in which Aramis had bowed his head to pray, and Porthos looked on in shock. This was his fault. He should have looked after him better. He should have. He-

His thoughts were cut off as they heard a gasp of air which came from the bed. D'Artagnan was alive, d'Artagnan was breathing.

"'Thos... y'r old enough t' be her dad. Hands off." The older man let out a choked laugh, and Constance pulled d'Artagnan up to kiss him hard on the mouth.

"That's revenge for all those times you kissed me without my permission. Then nearly dying without my permission." She scolded him, but he had a dazed look on his face.

"So does this mean I'm allowed to kiss you from now on?"

"Shut up, you shameless flirt." She admonished, but her heart wasn't in it. D'Artagnan wasn't dead. Thank god.

"You gave us all a scare, young man" Aramis told him. "We thought we'd lost you." D'Artagnan looked up then, and he saw that Athos was glaring at Porthos, who was looking, if he was honest, like hell at this moment, and it didn't take him long to figure out what the Athos was thinking.

"Don't you dare, Athos." He warned, sitting himself up despite Constance's protests. Athos looked back at him, shocked at the way the boy had spoken, as if there was no room for argument - as if he was giving Athos an _order._ "You blame Porthos for this, I won't forgive you. It wasn't his fault. I made a stupid mistake and left myself open for attack."

"But you nearly died." Athos protested, only earning himself a glare from the young Gascon.

"And how exactly is that any different from any other day? We risk our lives every day for king and country. Porthos trusted that I could hold my own - something which I am thankful for, because unlike the pair of _you_" He indicated to Athos and Aramis, "he doesn't bloody well try to mollycoddle me. He does his part and trusts me to do mine, and if I can't, then it's no one's fault but my own. So if you give Porthos any trouble for this, God help me but I will take his side." He stopped glaring and talking for a moment while he had a slight coughing fit, which, though it panicked the Musketeers, the physician assured them was quite normal, though he told them that they should stop stressing out his patient and leave him in peace, perhaps with the lady of the house to calm him down from his fit of temper, but, though weakly, d'Artagnan protested.

"Porthos can stay." The other Musketeers nodded reluctantly and let him be. Porthos hadn't moved at all, was just standing, staring in shock.

"Hey... come on now, big guy, I'm-" he paused "well, okay, I'm not fine, but I will be." Porthos sat down on the far edge of the boy's bed.

"But you nearly died. I should have looked after you better, i-"

"Please tell me you're not going to start being all ridiculously overprotective now. Look, what happened was awful and it hurt like hell, I'm not going to lie. But it wasn't your fault. Porthos, the only person that is to blame is the man with that knife." The other man's eyes lit up in something like anger. Good, d'Artagnan thought. It meant he could focus on something other than self-loathing. That was a state of being that only really suited Athos. Speaking of which.

"Don't you think you should let them back in now?" He asked, but d'Artagnan shook his head, meeting Porthos's eyes with a grin.

"Nah, I think we can let them suffer." Porthos chuckled warmly, and the boy soon fell asleep. He felt such relief at seeing the steady rise and fall of his chest, and, feeling like, despite what the Gascon had already said, that he might be forgiven for a little mollycoddling, he tucked him into bed like a child, before telling the others they could come in. They'd all suffered enough that night already, after all, and they deserved some peace of mind.

So they all spent the night in d'Artagnan's room, keeping watch over him, as if, when they looked away, but even for a moment, he would be gone. They all made a silent agreement to keep a closer watch on him in future, Porthos especially - but it would have to be subtle, so that d'Artagnan wouldn't notice and hate him for it.


	12. Two Types of Love

A/N: Dedicated to ThorneofAcre who wanted Athos thinking about his love for Milady compared to that of d'Artagnan.

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><p>He watched d'Artagnan sleep. He watched each breath. In out, in out, as his chest heaved up and down. He was alive. Athos would have to be satisfied with that, for now. D'Artagnan was alive, and his wife was dead, as she was supposed to be.<p>

She was really gone now, but he couldn't bring himself to care much. She had had a stranglehold on him for too long. For five years the very thought of her had choked him. She had always been cold and calculating, made sure he was too close to her to realise her true nature until it was too late. She was gone now, and he could breathe. Was such a thing ever love? Athos did not want to ponder it for too long.

But then there was d'Artagnan, like a bull in a china shop, rushing head first into danger, always ready to back up a friend, always ready to lay down a life for a brother - or, in Athos's case, a lover. He was wild and he was reckless, and rarely gave much forethought to his actions. He was loyal to a fault. He would bleed gladly if it meant that Athos was safe.

And there was the difference - where his wife killed, d'Artagnan bled. Whilst she was the noose around Athos's neck, d'Artagnan was what kept his heart beating, what was flowing through his veins, and made him, for the first time in five years, feel free.


	13. Hidden Grief

A/N: Sorry this took so long. Writer's block struck, I'm afraid. But it's here now.

And why do I feel like after today, there will be babysitting fics galore? (or is that just wishful thinking on my part?)

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><p>Athos had come to notice that there was something... off about d'Artagnan's behaviour recently. He was quiet, subdued, none of his usual boisterous disposition and snarky comments. Come to think of it, they'd never had a quiet moment since d'Artagnan had joined their number. From the mess with Vadim to Bonnaire and the whole mess with his dead-but-not-dead wife to Marsac and the debacle with the Court of Miracles, none of them had been given much in the way of time to unwind. But for now, things were quiet, and there did not seem to be any impending disasters ready to topple king and country which they would need to defend against.<p>

Usually, should such an opportunity arrive for them, Athos would take the reprieve to get as drunk - or drunker than humanly possible. Instead, he watched, with a bottle of wine he'd hardly touched, as his friends tried to coax the boy into joining in their conversation. It was subtle, but to Athos, it was obvious they were making a conscious effort to include d'Artagnan in their conversation. The boy just shook his head and made some mumbled excuses about not wanting to keep Madame Bonacieux up too late waiting for him to return - he didn't want to give her yet another reason to have him out on his ear. Something about that rang of falsehood to Athos, but Aramis just pouted and Porthos grumbled, and let the boy be on his way.

Athos now made his way to his companion's table, bottle still in hand, still mostly full, and sat down next to them.

"What is wrong with d'Artagnan these days?" He inquired of them, but both shook their heads, looking sadly in the direction in which their young friend had left.

"He looked in a melancholy way" Aramis mused with a sigh as he took a swig of his own tankard of ale.

"Do you think so? Perhaps then I should make an enquiry as to what troubles him." Athos stood, leaving the wine on the table for his friends to share as they pleased, but he was halted by Porthos's hand on his arm.

"He might not want you to pry, Athos. Maybe you should give the lad his privacy. He respects ours well enough." Athos bit back a retort - it would not do well for him to blurt out the secret of his wife's existence to them, in letting them know that d'Artagnan had already stripped down the walls he had built so long ago, and had held him at his most vulnerable, and still looked up to him in reverence and wonder - peppered with quiet understanding now. Because he knew. So Athos deserved to know what was bothering the boy. But he could not tell that to Porthos, so he sighed and placed his free hand over that of his friend.

"And yet I will go to him all the same. My mind is uneasy - d'Artagnan never acts thus. If he does not wish for my company I will not press it upon him, and yet I will offer it to him freely." Porthos nodded and let him go, satisfied with the answer. Aramis watched him with a sad smile.

"He was much like that for me after Marsac, actually. Always asked if I wanted company, always left if I said no. It helped, knowing that he was there. He never forced anything, he was just... there." He sighed. "He's a good lad, and I do hope he lets you help him with whatever it is he's going through right now." Porthos hummed in agreement, taking a swig of the wine that Athos had left on the table and then grimacing.

"That's disgusting." He said before adding, "Kid came around to apologize the other day- something about doubting me for a moment with the whole Court of Miracles debacle." Athos and Aramis shared a look, but Porthos continued. "Said I could hit him or whatever and he wouldn't lift a finger. But I couldn't do that - not when the same thought had run through my mind." The other two gripped a hand each, fiercely, to show that they had never doubted him for a second, before their thoughts turned back to their young friend.

"But why would he hide his own troubles from us like this, if he's always..." Athos rubbed his eyes with his hand. He was not drunk enough for this. "I'm going."

"Wait!" Aramis was the one to stop him this time. "Do you even know where he'll be? Because I doubt he went back to Madame Bonacieux, no matter what he told us." Athos frowned. No, the truth was he didn't know. But he knew where he could start.

"I'll find him, Aramis. But you two stay here, enjoy the rest of the night."

He let his feet take him on the path well worn into his memory - that which led to the Musketeer's garrison. He'd noticed that the boy always spent more time in the stables than them, caring for his own horse, rather than leaving the task up to the grooms. Originally, he had merely supposed it an odd quirk of a Gascon farmboy - but now he thought that perhaps there was a little more to it than that. After they'd returned from La Ferre, especially, the boy had spent a few days insisting that he properly groom his horse. Athos could have kicked himself - this was something he should have seen sooner.

He found him there, but he did not make his presence known. Instead, he opted to watch as d'Artagnan gave his mare a thorough brushing down.

"Hey old girl." He said as she nuzzled his pocket, "No treats today I'm afraid, but you'll just have to put up with me anyway. You're good at that, aren't you, old lass? I could say anything to you, tell you anything, and you'd not judge. You'd never tell a soul. And I can't talk to the others, not really." He paused, the comb caught on a particularly stubborn knot in her mane. "I don't want to bother them, see. They all have enough to worry about as it is." Athos listened in to the young man's monologue as he continued to work the knot out of the horse's hair. "What have I got worth complaining about that isn't worse for them, anyway - Aramis had to kill his friend, Athos had to kill his wife but couldn't stay and watch so she's alive and trying to kill him, and Porthos grew up on the streets." The mare nuzzled him affectionately, as if sensing her master's distress. "Do you ever miss Gascony, Petal? Do you ever miss the farm. Because... I don't know if I do or not. I should go back, get everything in order. I told uncle I'd be there next month, he's looking after it until then - but I don't know if I can. I don't know if I can face it. Not without father there. God. Even now, I just, I think of the farm and all I can see is him. But he's gone now, old girl, and there's just you and me now." He sighed, his voice cracking as he said the next words, tears dripping from his chin onto the horse's mane. "There's nothing left in Gascony for me now."

"So stay in Paris." Athos interupted, and d'Artagnan stood bolt upright with such a shocked face that the older man almost felt guilty. Almost. Before the Gascon could move away, he wiped away a tear with a gloved hand. "There is no shame in grieving your father, lad. I'm sure he was a good man."

"The best" d'Artagnan agreed, his voice shaky and raw. "He taught me how to use a sword." He half smiled at a memory just come to the surface, and blinked back more tears. Athos put an arm around him and ushered him out of the stable.

"Forgive me, Petal, but I must borrow your master and challenge him to drink me under the table. You look shinier than polished boots, might I add." The horse snorted and he could almost imagine she understood him. "By the way... Petal?" d'Artagnan just shrugged.

"Her mother was called Buttercup. My sister named them." Athos raised an eyebrow.

"I did not know you had a sister."

"She disappeared, six years ago. We never heard a word, so..." Athos stared at him in shock, as he concluded "we assumed that she... that-" He stopped as he was pulled into a hug. Athos smelt of sweat and leather and comfort and warmth, and d'Artagnan fell into the hug and started sobbing - great, ugly, heaving sobs, and Athos just held him through it. "I miss them, Athos. I miss them so much." Athos shushed him and made soothing motions on his back with his hand. "Why are they gone, Athos? Why are they gone when I'm still here?"Athos's hold on him grew tighter when he heard the lost desperation in the boy's voice, and was reminded of his youth - how young he was to have all his family thus torn from him.

"I asked myself the same question, so many times, lad." He admitted into the top of d'Artagnan's head. "But lad - _I'm here_. As long as you need me. And if you don't want me to tell the others, fine - but they're worried about you." _And so was I_ went unspoken, but d'Artagnan heard it all the same.

"I know, I'm sorry." He spoke into the older man's chest, still not ready to meet his gaze, and feeling slightly ashamed at having broken down so thoroughly in front of the man he most respected and admired. But Athos just pulled him to his feet and wiped his cheeks clean of tears.

"Come on now, lad. I think you've earned a drink or two." And with that, he dragged him back to where Aramis and Porthos waited for them, who were now playing cards. They looked from d'Artagnan to Athos, and saw the small nod of the head that meant whatever it was had been sorted out for now, that they didn't need to worry, so they decided to let it lie, for now. They didn't miss the red eyes or the sad looks he sometimes had - reminding them, almost terrifyingly of Athos. But once they've got warm drink in his belly and include him in their game, they could almost forget that he'd been acting differently at all. Almost, but not quite.

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><p>AN: _The part about his sister came from an awesome dream I had of her working at the La Ferre mansion and being in love with Thomas so helping him find out about Milady's past. She knows she's not dead but had to run to save her own life, but couldn't find the Count anywhere to tell him. She did not want her family in danger and so she let them think she was dead. But she comes back to Paris at some point. I might write a fic based on it. Not sure yet._


	14. Fire, Burning Bright I

A/N: What's this? Another chapter, when I've not done any all week? Well, actually, this had been sitting half finished for a while, so yeah. Just got it done literally right now. There will be another two parts of this, and then one based at a river on a hot day and then I will try to do my d'Art's sister fic. I'm not sure whether to start it with a prologue with her working at La Ferre, or for her to randomly come across Athos in Paris and then be like, interrogated by him, since she comes from his past and he doesn't want to take that risk and then d'Artagnan appears and there will be all the feels.

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><p>D'Artagnan winced as Athos crudely bandaged his arm with ripped strips of his tunic, and he kept his eyes on the floor. He didn't need to see the look of disappointment on his face. He could feel it keenly enough without looking.<p>

"You disobeyed me, boy." He admonished, and d'Artagnan just wanted to curl up and die.

"I know." He mumbled, his eyes still fixedly pointed to the floor. He remembered the night clearly. "But I don't regret it."

_D'Artagnan saw the flames well before Athos did, saw the mother screaming for her baby and her neighbours holding her back, and made a decision in an instant. Athos was powerless to stop him except to shout his name order him not to go in there, and watch and wait with baited breath as his rookie ran into the building which was currently set aflame. Was this horrible nauseous feeling in the bit of his stomach the same as what the boy had felt on finding him in his childhood home, lying on the floor, insensibly drunk and inhaling smoke? He could only watch, and hope, and pray. He could feel the heat of the flames from where he was standing, but that was nothing compared to how d'Artagnan was feeling._

_The young Gascon stumbled through the burning building, and he soon found the child cowering in a corner. She couldn't have been more than three. He crouched down next to her and coaxed her out, wrapping her tightly in his arms, running as fast as he could towards the exit. _

_However, one of the beams began to collapse, and, knowing that he would never make it in time, he threw the girl out of the doorway, back to her mother, before it fell on him. He was choking on the smoke already, and he let out a cry as the burning wood seared his back. He couldn't move. Oh god. He was going to die._

_As soon as he saw the girl outside the house without her saviour, Athos sprung into action. He ran in through the door, and seeing the state his friend was in, hastened to his side to remove the offending log. He could feel it burn in his hands and he quickly threw it to the side, dragging his now unconscious friend out of there as quickly as he could. _

_"Water! Someone fetch me some water!" He called out. The mother of the child who had been rescued fetched one from her neighbour, and Athos poured it on d'Artagnan's wound, eliciting a shout of pain from the boy. "Easy there, my lad." He soothed. "Come on. I'll get you home and out of those clothes. I don't want the fabric sticking to your burns." For good measure, he splashed some of the water over d'Artagnan's face, and the boy spluttered indignantly, which inwardly relieved Athos. If he was still aware enough for that, then there was hope, at least. _

_He half supported, half dragged him away from the scene, towards his own apartments, where he could keep an eye on him. He could send someone with a message to inform Constance of her lodger's condition. He did not doubt that both he and the boy (when he was significantly recovered -when, never if) would receive a thorough tongue lashing by her hand about, respectively, letting d'Artagnan nearly get himself killed, and rushing headfirst into danger without a thought to his own safety._

_He sat d'Artagnan down on the bed, and peeled off the clothes as carefully as possible. It was difficult, but d'Artagnan bit his lip and determinedly said not a word, though Athos could tell he was in an extreme amount of pain from the way his face screwed up, and the way he was audibly trying to school his breathing._

_"How's the pain, d'Artagnan?" He asked softly, and the boy made to shrug, forgetting his shoulder for a moment, his eyes going wide. "Don't lie to me, boy. Tell me honestly."_

_"Worst pain I've ever felt, actually. Though that means it's not as bad as it could have... been, because then I wouldn't... feel it at all." It took great effort for him to talk, and Athos had to fight not to roll his eyes._

_"You're worse than Porthos. We're going to have to keep an eye on you in the field, if you keep on with these harebrained, selfless, utterly idiotic heroics." Looking at the raw and mangled skin on the boy's back, he knew he would need Aramis here, and quite soon, too._

Athos smiled, despite himself. He'd made sure the bandages were wet - the boy needed something to sooth the burns on his shoulder - which looked awful, but could have turned out worse, he reasoned. Still, they unnerved him. He wished he had Aramis on hand. He would have been better equipped to handle this. Bullet wounds he can deal with. Burns... not so much.

"I know. But you never gave a moment's thought to your own safety. You never do, and that's not something I can simply overlook." The younger man scoffed, even as he tried to breathe through a wave of pain that the burns brought on.

"Yes well, I wasn't going to leave someone to die in a burning building if I knew I could save them, was I?" And suddenly they weren't talking about the little girl anymore, but something more personal, for both of them.

"d'Artagnan..." Athos began, and then sighed. "What if they don't want to be saved?"

"Then I'd say they're lying and have deluded themselves into thinking they don't deserve it." He tried to look seriously at Athos, but was hit by a coughing fit at just that moment.

"Don't make a habit of it", the older man admonished. "Here, lad. Drink some water." Athos told him, pressing the cup to his lips. d'Artagnan drank greedily. "Easy, now. Don't want to start it off again." He watched him carefully and made him lie back down on the bed, on his front, to leave the wound in the open. "You need rest."

"mmph" d'Artagnan made a feeble, incoherent protest, but he was tired, and the sleeping draught mixed with his drink was starting to take effect.

"Hush now. Aramis will be back from his patrol soon and I'll get him to take a look at you - take your rest whilst you can get it. I'm worried about that shoulder." _And Lord help us if a fever sets in_,he added silently, praying that it would not happen.


	15. Fire, Burning Bright II

Aramis noticed the burnt out building, but thought nothing of it other than to offer a prayer for the family whose house was destroyed, and to hope that everyone had gotten out safely, until he heard the people gossiping in whispers

"did you hear...?"

"That lad that's always with those Musketeers-"

"rushed right in to save that girl he did. Not a thought for himself."

"The other one got him out though. I hope he's alright. He's a bright young lad." When he realised just who they were talking about, his heart just about leapt into his throat.

He ran the rest of the way to Athos's apartments and flung open the door. Athos, while surprised, only showed it outwardly by quirking an eyebrow.

"d'Artagnan?" The other man asked, and Athos inclined his head, looking down at his young charge on the bed with a sad sigh. His temperature had only climbed, despite his best efforts, and though he slept, Athos could not ignore the pained whimpers which came from him even now.

"I'd hoped you would have returned sooner. He needs help - but I did not want to leave him. Just in case-" He cut himself off, not wanting to admit such a possibility aloud.

"Alright" Aramis took off his hat and placed it at the side of the bed, and took the water and cloth from Athos's hands. Peeling back the cloths already on the wounds, he cringed. "Athos. Go and tell Treville what's happened. I will care for him as best I can, but he really needs an actual doctor." He met his eyes, conveying that if he did not get said doctor, d'Artagnan might not make it through the night.

"Alright, Aramis. Take good care of him." He paused as he was about to go out the door, looking and taking in the pale face, hair drenched in sweat and the laboured breathing of their young comrade. "we cannot lose him. He's..."

"He's one of us." Aramis finished for him. Athos nodded, and took his leave.

He wasted no time in striding up the stairs when he just about crashed into Porthos

"Oh, Athos, Treville was looking for you - do you know where Aramis and d'Artagnan- what happened?" He asked when he noticed the pained expression on Athos's face.

"Come back inside while I talk to Treville. I only want to say this once." Porthos frowned, but nodded, and made way for Athos to go through the door first.

"Athos, there's been talk of a Musketeer being involved in an incident with a fire, investigate it." He ordered. Athos sighed.

"No need." Treville looked up sharply from his paperwork, his eyes scrutinizing his lieutenant's face.

"What happened?"

"There was a fire, and a child still in the building. D'Artagnan rushed into save her. Aramis is trying to treat his burns as we speak, but his skill with such wounds is limited." He took in a deep, steadying breath as Porthos laid a hand on his shoulder. "If he does not get proper care... Aramis didn't sound particularly hopeful, sir. I-" his voice wavered. The captain nodded.

"Very well. I will send for the best doctor I can find. In the mean time, you're all on leave until further notice. You'll be useless if you're distracted." That was as close as _go look after him you idiots_ as Treville was going to get.

"Kid's like a little brother" Porthos told him, "we're not going to let anything happen to him." Athos wanted to laugh hysterically - like a little brother? Didn't Porthos know what happened to little brothers? They died. They died, and it was all his fault. Treville seemed to notice the direction that his musketeer's thoughts had taken, so he subtly shook his head, so only Athos noticed.

"Quite right. He's got potential, and I'm not going to see it so easily wasted. The best doctor I can find, quick as I can find him. Now go. Your brother needs you." Athos swallowed, nodding, letting Porthos steer him through the streets and back towards his apartments.

Aramis was getting worried. D'Artagnan was at least partly conscious now - but he did not think he would say that the boy was awake, as such. His eyes had a faraway look about them, and he thought perhaps he was dreaming with his eyes open. Until he started mumbling in his sleep.

"M'ri... come home. 'm sorry. Come back." Aramis frowned, and put another cold cloth over the boy's brow. He was getting more and more concerned, but at least the boy was still enough.

"Father...'m sorry I couldn't save you. So sorry, sorry." Aramis's eyebrows arched. Oh, the poor boy. He offered up a prayer before wiping his forehead and murmuring softly.

"Hush now, lad. It wasn't your fault. None of what happened was your fault. Hush, hush. Sleep. You'll be alright. You will." He brushed back the boy's hair fondly, and looked up as he heard the pounding of feet up the stairs. Two sets - Porthos must be there as well.

"How is he?" His friend demanded, as Athos walked in silently behind him. Aramis sighed and shook his head.

"I hope that doctor hurries, because there isn't much more I can do except keep him cool. But it's not working as well as I'd hoped." He paused, meeting their gazes briefly before looking away, unable to deal with the protective worry in Porthos's eyes, or the unveiled anguish in those of Athos. "he's been talking - half dreaming, I think. Keeps mentioning his father. And someone named Marie?" He voiced the last question towards Athos, who shook his head and sat down next to Aramis, his eyes never leaving d'Artagnan.

"That was his sister's name" He told them quietly. Aramis looked up at him, frowning, and Porthos asked with surprise

"He has a sister? He never told us."

"No, and why should he? She's been missing for over five years, probably dead." Athos told them. Aramis worried his lip distractedly. Things did not look hopeful if the boy was already seeing dead relatives in his sleep. All were quiet as they took that in, watching the rise and fall of the boy's chest, afraid to look away lest it stopped.

"WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY LODGER NOW YOU-" Athos had almost forgotten about the messenger he sent to inform Constance of d'Artagnan's condition. When she saw him laid out on his front, and the huge welt which had formed from the burn, she gasped and covered her mouth, blinking back tears. Athos reached out a hand to steady her.

"There was a child trapped in a burning building - you know d'Artagnan. He rushed in before I could stop him." She sniffed, and let the man wrap his arms around her comfortingly. "He is dear to us all, Madame. We will not let him go." She nodded against him, still sniffling, before pulling away. There was a knock on the door that the four of them could only hope was the doctor.

It was, and Treville was with him too, his mouth set in a grim line when he saw the horrific injury on the boy's back. They all backed away to let the physician do his work, and they waited for results with bated breath.


	16. Drinking To Us

A/N: I will be finishing Fire, Burning Bright tonight, but since I finished this, I thought I might as well upload it. For GrumpyCathos on tumblr. Kinda Athos/Porthos if you squint

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><p>Porthos watched after d'Artagnan as he left. He didn't quite know why, other than that the kid was as prone to trouble as Athos was to drink, and if he could keep an eye on him for as long as possible, well, that was two more minutes in which he could be certain the kid hadn't gotten himself killed. The boy had come to apologize, because unlike the others, he had doubted him. For a moment. Just a moment. But he'd come and he'd begged forgiveness, and spread his arms open, inviting him to land a blow. And that just unsettled something in Porthos.<p>

He wasn't going lie though, it hurt a little to be doubted when he had so much confidence in the young Gascon from the start. But he supposed he could understand. D'Artagnan did not know them as well as they knew each other and was still trying to figure out just where he fit in. He'd gravitated towards Athos for the more than anyone, though he was chummy enough with Aramis - even going so far as to lie to Treville for him when Aramis was trying to shelter a traitor. So if he trusted the others with that - why not Porthos? He shook his head. There was no point in dwelling on it, and if he'd actually been angry at the kid, he would have decked him in the face. No, that wasn't what was wrong. Not really. It was how close he'd come to being executed. It was different, from the danger of dying in battle, he decided. Falsely accused, stripped of all his honour, ridiculed by that prejudiced bastard of a judge - treated like no more than a common criminal, when he'd only ever been loyal to the Musketeers. He needed a drink. He wanted company.

And he had a feeling he knew just where he might find both.

If he was honest, Athos half expected him to appear. It had been Porthos, after all, who had dragged him home after his own almost-execution. If the man wanted to get completely plastered, to borrow one of his choice phrases, he would be well within his rights. "Madame! A hearty ale for my friend here, I think" he called to the barmaid, who rolled her eyes and went to fetch a tankard. Porthos sat down heavily, not saying a word. Athos could see that he was troubled - after all that had occurred today, he'd have trouble finding anyone who wouldn't be. The woman sat the ale down in front of him, and he took it and downed it in one, slamming it down on the table when he was done. Athos just raised an eyebrow expressively and called for a refill. If Porthos wanted to talk, he would. If not, well, drinking in silence was not a completely foreign concept.

"It's messed up, isn't it?" Porthos asked. Athos inclined his head in agreement. He could sense that his friend was not done with his comment yet, and so waited for it to continue. "We spend our lives defending king and country - and yet one of us seems to end up in chains awaiting execution every two weeks." "You forget," Athos remarked, "That d'Artagnan was taking part in a covert operation". As he spoke, the corner of his mouth turned upwards into half a smile. "Still nearly got killed. But yeah - only one who's been missing out is Aramis." Athos smiled again and rolled his eyes. "If he keeps giving Anne of Austria the Stare, he might not be for much longer." Porthos couldn't help himself. He laughed, which only made Athos smile the wider. "It cheers my heart to hear your laughter once again, my friend. Come, let us drink to being pardoned and spared the firing squad, or the rope around our necks!" he took a long swig from his bottle of wine, and Porthos ordered yet more ale. They drank the night away - and this time it was Athos who had to carry his comrade home. Though he was heavy, he did not begrudge the task in the least. Having his friend in his arms as he dragged him, drink on his hot breath, stinking to high heaven, the warm body beneath his hands - it reminded him that his friend was still here. That they were both still here. And for tonight, that was enough.


	17. Fire, Burning Bright III

A/N: So here's the final part of this one. It was hell to get done, but it's here now. I'd love if people left me reviews! What would you like to see next, are you enjoying these so far?

Come out into the light, _don't be shy_. Honestly, the more reviews I get the better I feel about writing more.

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><p>It was a long night, to say the least. Athos did not sleep at all, Aramis only in short bursts. Porthos slept like a log, though, trusting his friends to wake him if anything happened. Constance slept kneeling with her head rested on her arms at the foot of the bed, and her sleep was troubled, though she did not stir. They were all in rather awkward sleeping positions, but none of them much cared.<p>

All the while, Athos kept his eyes on the rise and fall of d'Artagnan's chest, keeping vigil. He could not get the images of Thomas out of his mind. His brother had not died immediately, but slowly bled to death in his arms. Every time he put the Gascon into danger, he felt like he might lose his brother again - but he knew that d'Artagnan could handle himself in a fight - but this, the waiting, the constant checking to make sure the boy was still breathing - he felt so useless. There was nothing he could do for the boy but hope, and pray - something he had not had any faith in for a long time. He extricated himself from the bundle of bodies piled into the room to kneel at the boy's side, resting his elbows on the mattress and his head bent over his clasped hands.

_God, if there is any mercy left within you, take him not. If it were merely to spite my damned soul, there are other ways. But to take d'Artagnan now would rend not only my soul, but those of all in this room, and others besides. I beg of you, Lord, preserve him. For if he dies, you have murdered us all. Spare him, that is all I ask._

Aramis was awake at this point, and watched his leader with a great fondness. It spoke of his great affection for his friends that he would thus kneel in prayer, and, inspired by the sight, the errant priest offered up one of his own. _Father who art in Heaven, I ask of you to spare our friend. He has done so much good here. Let him do much more before you take him to your arms. Amen._

He then went to kneel next to Athos, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Numbly, Athos leant into him, which Aramis hadn't quite expected, but if the other needed comfort, he was more than willing to give it. He pulled him close so that the back of Athos's head was pressed into Aramis's shoulder, and Aramis had a firm grip on Athos's arm.

"D'Artagnan his strong, dear friend. He will not abandon us so easily as all that." As he said the words, he became more sure of it. "besides," he added, his eyes flitting over to where Constance was sleeping "do you think he'd ever want to be away from dear Madame Bonacieux's side? He would strike down armies for that woman - what trouble can it be for him to evade death for the same reason?" Athos nodded, but Aramis could tell he'd completely failed in reassuring him, as he would not so much as take his eyes off the Gascon.

"I should probably put more of that salve on his wound. Can you hold him, in case he wakes?" He asked softly, "I can wake Porthos if you'd rather not." He added when he saw the pallor of his friend's face. Athos shook his head, standing out of Aramis's embrace.

"I'll be alright." He told him, as Aramis retrieved the medicine that was needed. Athos held the boy's upper arms firmly, just hoping that he wouldn't lash out with his feet and end up kicking Constance in the face. The boy's back was bare, as the physician had informed them it was better to leave the wound to the elements, as bandages would likely stick and irritate it further. Aramis gathered the paste onto his fingers and waited for Athos to indicate that he would be ready to stop d'Artagnan from moving should it be needed.

The boy woke with a gasp as the salve was applied, but he did not thrash too much, as Athos soothed him gently whilst Aramis continued his work.

"There now lad. No need for fussing, you'll be just fine."

"Athos - what...?" d'Artagnan sounded confused, and his voice pained, but at least his voice seemed clear.

"You back with us now, d'Artagnan?" Aramis asked kindly.

"Hmmm. Back hurts."

"It would." He agreed. "You were burned quite badly. For a while-" he cut himself off, trying not to let his voice betray him. "For a while, it wasn't certain that you'd ever wake up" Blinking, d'Artagnan tried to prop himself up on his good arm so that he could look around the room.

_"Everyone's_ here?" He asked, incredulous. Even captain Treville had spent the night. It warmed his heart to think that his friends had come to care so much about him - but it pained him to have worried them so. "I did not mean to be such an inconvenience." He apologized, but Athos just leant forward and gently ruffled his hair.

"The only inconvenience would have been your death, foolish Gascon."

"Indeed." Aramis agreed. "It simply wouldn't do to lose our little brother now, would it?" d'Artagnan's eyes widened and he turned to Athos, who merely gave him a sad smile and a nod. "I would never have forgiven myself, d'Artagnan, were you to perish." He admitted quietly. Though it pained him to do so, d'Artagnan reached out his arm and squeezed Athos' hand in understanding.

"Besides, there's someone else who was very worried about you, young man." D'Artagnan looked confused until he turned his head in the direction that Athos was nodding his in. He saw Constance, her arms folded, her head rested on top of them, and her hair falling over her face, the just rising sun made her ringlets shine with reflected golden light. Athos looked back at d'Artagnan, who was just staring at her with awe.

"I really do think I love her" He admitted, his voice a barely audible whisper. Aramis and Athos shared a look above his head. Then Athos just squeezed d'Artagnan's hand.

"Who knows what the future will bring, lad." The sad bitterness he felt at his own experience with love came to the forefront of his mind. But this young pair were about as far from he and Anne as any couple could be. They were bright, honest fire. More like roses than forget-me-nots. "But don't despair of it."

D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure _you _didn't inhale any smoke? Because not only are you giving out advice, but you're telling me to be hopeful in affairs of the _heart_." Aramis smiled at the pair of them before shaking his head.

"How's the pain, d'Artagnan?"

The Gascon considered for a moment, before half shrugging.

"It's bearable."

"I can get you a tonic, if you need one," Aramis offered, but d'Artagnan just shook his head stubbornly.

"No, really, I don't need it."

All the noise had woken up Constance, and she blinked blearily.

"Morning, sleepyhead." D'Artagnan greeted. Constance immediately bolted upright and budged Athos out of her way so she could sit by his side, and she leant forward and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

"Don't you ever do that to me again." D'Artagnan just smiled, because he knew, and she knew, too, that such a promise was one he could never make.


	18. Silent, But Fervent

A/N: This was for a prompt over on the kinkmeme. It just really spoke to me for some reason.

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><p>Sometimes Aramis wondered why he'd decided on the lot of a soldier in the first place. He could feel the call of prayer in his soul and often wished for a life which leant more toward peaceful contemplation. But then he thought of his comrades - Athos, Porthos, and sometimes he even thought of Marsac, though the memories still brought him pain. Men with whom he shared a stronger bond than mere friendship - they were brothers, not in blood, but in bond, and the way that they stood together, facing off any foe with the conviction that they would fight together, until whatever end they may meet.<p>

But seeing the newest amongst their number so weak and ill after taking a musket ball to the side brought his doubts and his fears crashing back down on him like a waterfall. D'Artagnan had taken it upon himself to shield Porthos from a lethal shot, and get himself gravely wounded for his trouble. True, the young Gascon had been injured many times before - but never before had Aramis had to dig out a bullet from his young friend's flesh. It made him sick to remember it, and he'd spent a good long time trying to wash the feeling out of his hands. They still felt wrong - but for when they rested on the rosary gifted to him by the Queen. It grounded him. It gave him faith. He gripped the cross so tightly that an imprint of it was left in his hand, and he sank down to his knees and bent his head in prayer at the side of the bed. The practiced words fell from his lips, and they were a comfort:

"Almighty and Eternal God,  
>You are the everlasting health of those who believe in You.<br>Hear us for Your sick servant d'Artagnan  
>for whom we implore the aid of Your tender mercy,<br>that being restored to bodily health,  
>he may give thanks to You in Your Church.<br>Through Christ our Lord. Amen."

Aramis did not cease in his prayers for the length of the night, excepting when his patient had need of him. Tears filled his eyes, and he held on to the only tether he had to reality - his religion. God would not take their friend from them so young - not when he had so much yet to achieve, so much more to learn. He still had to become a Musketeer. The Lord must have a greater plan than this. D'Artagnan woke briefly once, asking for his father, and that almost stole Aramis' breath away, but he kept praying silently, even as he gently wiped the boy's brow with a cool wet cloth.

Athos came to check on them once he returned from Treville's office where he had explained the events of the mission in detail. It was very nearly morning, and Aramis was knelt by the bed, which worried Athos at first - had their friend already passed on? The mere thought of it made him sick to the stomach.

"He's not dead, Athos" he heard Aramis whisper. "By God's Grace, he's not dead. Not yet. Nor, I think, will he die today." Athos was about to smile, when he realised that his friend's voice already sounded like he was grieving.

"Aramis, what is it? You said he would be alright, did you not?" His friend nodded.

"This time. But what of the next mission, and the one after?"

"We are soldiers." Athos told him firmly, which only elicited a bitter laugh from his comrade.

"_We_ are, yes. The boy is not. Not yet. But he will, provided he lives that long. He has the soul for it." Realisation dawned on Athos' face at his friend's words.

"Aramis... whatever you choose, you will always be our brother. Do not let us cloud your judgement." He paused, looking over at their injured friend, who was breathing steadily, though it definitely sounded laboured. "Though, if you are going to abandon us for God - I'd prefer you waited until you've taught at least two of us to sew half as well as you, or we would be dead within the week." His tone was light, but his eyes told a different story. He would brook no argument on that score, as the lives of his friends came before anything else. Aramis smiled and patted the bed.

"Come, pray with me, my friend." Slightly shocked by the invitation, Athos did not quite know what to make of it. "For d'Artagnan, if nothing else. Have faith for him - let him be your reason." At that, Athos scrutinised the face of his long time comrade, who only smirked. "It's quite obvious how you feel for him. You should tell him. Before something happens that leaves either one of you unable to." Athos glared, but Aramis looked distinctly pleased with himself. "I shall pray for God to give you courage, mon ami." Athos clopped him on the back of the head, but conceded to kneel next to Aramis and pray with him. They prayed together, silent, but fervent in their wishes, whilst d'Artagnan slept on, ignorant of all except the warmth of the friends by his side.


	19. A Little Brother

A/N I started this one a while ago but my writing energy kind of ran out for a while. Now though I've got lots of fics in the works and one which I have an awesome person beta-ing which I'm not sure if I'll put up on here, but the 1st chapter's on AO3, it's called Building A Family. But yes. this is d'Artagnan being whumped in an AU of Sleight of Hand. Enjoy:

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><p>After the explosion, Athos groaned and rolled himself over with great effort. He looked over at Porthos, who seemed to be in the same sort of state.<p>

"Anything broken?" Aramis was hovering over the pair of them. Athos shook his head.

"We escaped relatively unscathed, I believe." He stood and assisted Porthos in getting to his feet. They all shared a look before nodding and heading off after Vadim, and they could only pray that d'Artagnan was still among the living.

D'Artagnan was alive, as it happened, and he knew he had to catch up to the man who had made such a fool of him. He was hurting, but he ignored it, figuring it was just aches from the blast, knowing he had to find Vadim.

"You're full of surprises" The thief told him when he caught up, tricking him into not knowing where he was. It was almost amusing to see the shoe on the other foot. Vadim had no hope of beating him when it came to swordplay though, so d'Artagnan quickly ran him through, but he still managed to get away. D'Artagnan was about to move forward to go after him when there was a sharp pain in his ribs. He bit his lip to stop a groan from passing his lips, and he could hear gunshots and the footsteps of his friends.

Athos was beyond relieved to see the boy alive. When the explosion had happened, he had feared the worst, but he could not express his relief particularly eloquently

"So you are alive then?" He asked. D'Artagnan's smile was strained, but then, they still had a thief to catch.

"I think so" He decidedly did not like the way that sounded, but he put it to the back of his mind, after all, they had a duty to complete.

"Where's Vadim?" d'Artagnan stared down at his sword, and Athos noticed it was bloody, he knew the answer before the Gascon even spoke.

"Wounded, badly. He can't have gone far" And so they run in the direction which d'Artagnan indicated, Athos taking up the rear, and there was something not right, he felt, but he could not quite place it. Just a general sense of foreboding. But why could that be, when Vadim merely collapsed and took his last few breaths?

"-A good trick, it should've worked" He heard him say. But it was d'Artagnan's reply that set Athos on edge, and he was sure that at the very least, Aramis shared his apprehension when they shared a look.

"It very nearly did." How nearly? He watched as d'Artagnan stood from where he had crouched next to the dying criminal, and saw the boy's eyes widen and his face pale as he tried to take a deep breath. He made to move forward as he saw him collapse, but Aramis was there first, holding him up and slowly lowering him into a sitting position. He motioned to Porthos to come and support the lad whilst he checked for the cause of their young friend's collapse. He tilted his head gently and felt around until he could feel blood on his hands.

"You took a blow to the head?" He asked quietly. D'Artagnan murmured his agreement to that, leaning heavily against Porthos' shoulder, wanting very much just to go to sleep. Aramis saw his eyes fluttering and his heart lurched. "d'Artagnan. I need you to stay awake, alright? I need you to tell me if you are hurt anywhere else. Can you do that for me, d'Artagnan?" The Gascon nodded and took in a careful breath - or at least, he tried to be careful, but something felt very wrong. A wave of pain hit him and he bit back a whimper.

"Ribs." He managed to gasp out through the pain. Aramis' eyes widened in shock, but he clamped down on it. Panic would not help d'Artagnan now.

"Alright. We'll just take a look at you, then. But you have to stay awake. Athos" he called when he saw that the older man was watching helplessly with a terrible expression of guilt on his face, "distract him. Keep him awake, keep him grounded." Athos swallowed nervously and complied whilst his friends removed the boy's jacket and shirt.

"d'Artagnan, listen to me, damn you. Don't you dare close your eye-" He was cut off as Aramis gasped. He looked up sharply at him from where he had been keeping his eyes on d'Artagnan's face.

"He has at least two broken ribs, and, if I'm right in my suspicions, it is very possible that there might be some internal damage." Athos felt his blood run cold at his friend's words. Internal injuries very were very rarely survived. D'Artagnan sighed tiredly and sagged against Porthos' broad chest. For a moment, Aramis panicked, but he could see the rise and fall of their injured friend's chest.

"And your suspicions are?" Athos asked him urgently. Aramis looked from his patient's bruised form to his friend and ran his hand through his hair.

"He was far closer than any of us to the source of the explosion, Athos. These are blast injuries." Aramis informed him.

"What can we do?" Athos asked after taking a moment to recover his wits. His hands were shaking.

"You, Athos, can find Treville and inform him of what happened, and make him send his best surgeon to the Bonacieux' house. Porthos, you'll carry d'Artagnan there, and I will accompany you and tend to him as best I can" Athos nodded, and taking one last long look at the young Gascon - what if this was the last time he saw him breathing? - And he ran to Treville's office, heart pounding and his brain being wonderfully helpful and substituting Thomas's face in his memories with d'Artagnan.

He did not expect to find both halves of the Bonacieux couple arguing with Treville and he really did not have the time for them right now.

"Captain!" He called to get the man's attention.

"Athos? What's wrong? Did Vadim escape?" Athos shook his head, catching his breath.

"No, no, sir, it-" His voice caught, "It's that d'Artagnan was badly injured in the blast. Aramis is wor- worried that there could be internal bleeding, and he's broken ribs. He was unconscious when I left. But still... alive." Constance gasped in horror, and Monsieur Bonacieux just huffed angrily. He'd evidently been told of d'Artagnan's true purpose, or else he might have spouted vitriol about how he deserved whatever he got, but as it was, Athos still wanted to beat him bloody - how dare he? It must have shown on his face, because Treville stood and put a hand on his arms, ordering quietly,

"Athos, calm." Unthinkingly, the soldier in him obeyed. This was not the time for violence. D'Artagnan needed them now. "I will call upon my best surgeon - you took him to his own lodgings, I assume?" Athos nodded and thanked the captain with a nod, rushing out the door with Constance hot on his heels.

"Athos!" She called after him as she picked up her skirts and all but sprinted to keep up with him. Her face was like thunder, but Athos just made his way to the room where he knew d'Artagnan to be.

His face was pale, and his breathing harsh and laboured, but he was conscious now. Athos almost sagged in relief at the fact the boy had not died in the time that he had spent talking to Treville.

"The surgeon is on his way" He informed Aramis, who was kneeling at d'Artagnan's bedside and had cleaned and bandaged the Gascon's head wound and was currently attempting to convince him to swallow a pain draught.

"A...th's?" d'Artagnan asked, turning his head a little in the direction of the door, and eyes widening a little when he noticed Madame Bonacieux. "S'rry C'nstance. Di'nt mean f'r... t' be s'much trouble." He gave her a weak smile and she would have fallen to her knees sobbing if Athos had not caught her and sat her down on the chair.

"You stupid, stupid boy" she scolded, though her voice was heartbrokenly fond, and her whole body shook with sobs. D'Artagnan said nothing but Athos could tell that he did not want Constance to see him like this, he was pleading with Athos to see that.

"Madame, perhaps you could prepare some more bandages, for when the surgeon arrives?" Numbly, she stood and nodded, walking out the door with red rimmed eyes.

"Th'nks, 'Thos." He was trying so very hard to stay awake, for them. All of this, he had done for them - and they had allowed him to and he had been the one to pay the price for it. He looked at Porthos who was standing in the corner with his arms folded and his jaw clenched. Athos could see he wanted to punch something. But the enemy were already defeated and one of their own - one of their _brothers younger brother just like Thomas and you've failed him all over again_, Athos's subconscious screamed at him - was lying on a bed, tired and injured and possibly dying. He could hear Aramis mumbling prayers, for the wounded, for the sick, he was avoiding anything close to the verses which touched on death.

"don't thank me. Look at what happened... we didn't do enough to protect you. You didn't know what you were doing - if only I had never let you do this. You wouldn't be lying here. You'd have been safe." His own voice was hoarse and it seemed d'Artagnan was surprised by this burst of sentiment because he looked quite shocked, but then gave him a wry smile.

"When I first came... to Paris... I tried to kill you. Then you almost got executed-"

"But you helped to save me, didn't you? I knew as long as I had these two idiots I'd be alright" Athos replied. D'Artagnan nodded, then winced at the pain that caused in his head.

"Well. I have you _three_ idiots to take care of me, so I'll be just fine." And Athos heard the unspoken _There is no one I trust as I trust the three of you_ in that statement, and humbled, he smiled warmly, and came forward to kiss d'Artagnan on the forehead.

"Rest then, little brother." A single tear fell onto the boy's brow, but neither of them made any mention of it. "And we shall stay here until you wake." And he was confident now, that despite his injuries, d'Artagnan would survive this. He had to. His arrival had filled a place in their hearts that had long been empty. There would not be another Marsac, there would not be another Thomas. D'Artagnan could never be lost to them.

**Let me know what you think? Any prompts that you're dying for me to fill?**


	20. To Lovers, Brothers and Heartbreak

A/N: This is written in response to how hopeless and sad I was made by episode 8. Musketeers need to know what's up with their puppy

Warning, d'Art gets really drunk and sad and has dark thoughts.

But Athos hugs him

and there may or may not be a few references to lines in the book

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><p>After the events at the contest, Athos was left concerned for the young Gascon. He found him moving his things into the garrison, much to his surprise. But then the young man's words from earlier... about love - what could have brought that on but some disagreement with Madame Bonacieux? But it was not his business, so he did not wish to intrude.<p>

They had partied earlier that night, to celebrate d'Artagnan's acceptance into their ranks, but the young man had stayed surprisingly sober, and though he smiled and laughed and thanked the others when they congratulated him, they were not the genuine warm, heartfelt grins that he was used to seeing from the lad. He was reserved, quiet. It was entirely out of character. And so, when he had departed before the rest of them, Athos only waited a short while, informing Porthos and Aramis of what he was doing, and he headed after the errant Gascon.

He did not know what he had been expecting, but it was not this. Not bottles strewn across the floor, emptied - six at least - and d'Artagnan slouched over his table, hand still on the bottle. He had never expected to see the Gascon look up at him with such a look in his eyes that he felt he were staring into a mirror. D'Artagnan looked away with a scowl.

"Go 'way, Athos. I don't want company."

"So I see. Nonetheless, you constantly pester me when I am in no mood for it, so I am content to return the favour." He looked around at the empty bottles, and felt sick at heart that he had not noticed whatever it was that caused the young man distress. "I hope you know that you can trust me - as I have trusted you." D'Artagnan only glared at him and moved to take another swig of his wine, but Athos stopped him. "Enough, d'Artagnan. You've had too much already." But his young friend just shook his head and tried to grab for it again, though Athos kept it out of reach. Was this how _he_ acted when he was drunk? What on earth had possessed the boy to follow his example?

"More than you know, you said" d'Artagnan mumbled eventually. "Maybe you were onto something, there." His hand tightened into a fist and he refused to meet his fellow Musketeer's eyes. "Maybe I am more like you than I thought."

"d'Artagnan, tell me what happened?"

"I love her, Athos, and she... told me she didn't love me. Even after... she- I..." He looked up at his friend helplessly. "What do I do now, Athos? What do I do now?"

"Oh, lad." Athos strode forward and embraced him, wrapping his arms tightly around him. Having Athos close to him, warm and solid, providing comfort, was the final straw that caused d'Artagnan to break down into great shuddering sobs that wracked his whole frame.

"I don't..." His breath hitched and his voice stuttered as he struggled to find the words. "Why? I thought- I thought we were hap- happy. I still- no matter what- she says, I don't think I could ever stop." Athos said nothing, only held the boy closer and rubbed soothing circles on his back as he cried his heart out.

Eventually, he wore himself out and just sagged against Athos' shoulder, and the older Musketeer wondered if he had perhaps fallen asleep. But something nagged at him - the idea that Constance Bonacieux, a woman he had always respected, could hurt d'Artagnan in such a way, was as bizarre to him as it was unforgivable. Athos well remembered how it felt to have his heart wrenched and his soul thus torn in two - but he had good reason for turning the love of his wife to hate. D'Artagnan had none of that. He was lost and heartbroken and there was no _reason_ for it. Closing his eyes he sighed and lifted d'Artagnan awkwardly to the bed. There was a slightly indignant groan, so Athos knew he was still awake.

"Why the drinking, d'Artagnan? You've seen me enough times to know it's not a good idea." He admonished. "This isn't how you deal with things. I know you." D'Artagnan looked up at him sharply, then gave a sad smile and shook his head.

"Do you, Athos? Do you know me? Because I am not sure that I even know myself anymore. As for the wine... I just wanted to forget, even for a moment. But it didn't work - it never does, does it? You drink and you drink and you drink, but it never goes away. I don't know whether I wish I had never met her - no, I couldn't wish that. But I half feel I wish myself dead. And... I know I shouldn't. I should be happy, because I'm a Musketeer now but-"

"Hush, lad" Athos interrupted, placing a warm hand on the boy's shoulder. "No one says you have to be happy. You have your dream - but you have lost who you wished to share them with. Your father, I'm sure, you would wish could have seen you. And as for Const-" seeing d'Artagnan flinch, he did not say the rest of her name aloud. "As for the woman who troubles your thoughts- you have lost her in a crueller way than I lost mine. For mine I was to hang - shoddy work I made of it, I'll grant, but I never doubted she loved me, in her twisted way." he admitted, giving d'Artagnan a wry smile which he returned. "But to be in love, and to have that love spat back in your face by one who should know better... But do not despair, d'Artagnan, I beg of you - do not fall into the blackness of melancholy. It is a terrible lake to be drowning in. And I'll need you to pull me out of it. I beg this selfish indulgence, my friend - if I had a son, I could not love him more than I do you. If you trust in nothing else, d'Artagnan, trust in us." His voice was hoarse with emotion and d'Artagnan sat up, though his head was pounding. Athos firmly gripped his shoulder and forced the Gascon to look him in the eyes.

"Let nothing matter except the brotherhood we share - you are one of us now, d'Artagnan, truly. And we look after our own." D'Artagnan nodded, his lip trembling, but this time his tears were of gratitude that this man could care so much about him. "No more drinking for you, alright? I won't have Treville saying I set a terrible example for his young recruits"

"You do, though." D'Artagnan retorted with a smile - a real one, this time, which Athos couldn't be more relieved to see. Athos cuffed him about the back of the head for his insolence, but he was smiling himself.

"We'll see you through this, d'Artagnan. All of us."

"Do the others _have_ to know?" He whined petulantly. Athos rolled his eyes fondly, remembering a time when Thomas had been just as this boy was - well, as he usually was, at any rate. Perhaps that would account for the overly protective urge when it came to this boy.

"yes, they do" He answered calmly. "I was not the only one who was worried. Aramis especially so - he is a great believer in love." D'Artagnan sighed.

"Yes, and he was acting like a jealous wife when Porthos was talking with Alice". Athos said nothing, but shook his head and smiled fondly.

"Yes, nevertheless, they should know." He told d'Artagnan firmly.

"See if I pull you out of a burning building ever again" He grumbled and rolled over. Then he remembered that his farm had been burned down too, even if he had not been there to see it. "I guess we really are alike, aren't we?" he asked ruefully, and Athos sighed

"Oh, d'Artagnan, how I wish we weren't. I would wish to spare you your heartaches and sorrows, truly. But every man must bear his own cross, I suppose." He stood and picked up and tidied away the bottles that d'Artagnan had strewn messily about the place - there were eight in total. "One thing I can say with absolute certainty, is that you will regret this come the morning."

"Mmm" d'Artagnan agreed, falling back against the pillows and actually falling asleep this time.

That was when Porthos and Aramis appeared in the doorway, looking far more sober than they would have done on any other night, seemingly hoping to check on his progress with their young Gascon

"Oh... he's asleep?" Aramis asked, looking from Athos to d'Artagnan.

"Yes. He's had a long day. A very long day." He pulled the blanket up so it covered d'Artagnan, and ruffled his hair gently. "So be careful not to wake him up."

"Did you find out what was bothering him then, my friend?" Aramis asked. Athos nodded. "Well then, what is it?" he pressed. Sighing, Athos ran a hand over his face.

"A little of everything. With the news of his farm being burnt to the ground, memories of his father... As for why he said what he did earlier, that has to do with Madame Bonacieux."

"Constance? Has something happened to her?" Aramis asked, concerned. Scowling Athos shook his head.

"No, she broke his heart."

"What?!" Aramis was incredulous he saw himself as a wonderful judge of women, and Constance Bonacieux had seemed to him one of the best.

"She told him she did not love him, and that she never could. He's not coping well." Athos looked in the direction of the empty bottles and the others followed his gaze.

"He drank all that?" Porthos wondered aloud. Athos nodded.

"He did. I had to take the ninth one away from him. He..." Athos pressed his eyes closed to hold back the tears. "He said he wanted to die."

Porthos was shocked, but Aramis only looked sad.

"Such is the way when young hearts are broken- I remember... but never mind that. Did you at least talk some sense into him?" Athos nodded, swallowing, and trying to hide the hoarseness in his voice.

"I did. I told him that no matter what, he would always have us."

"One for all, and all for one, eh?" Porthos suggested. Aramis' brow twitched upwards and he smiled.

"Where on earth did you come up with that? It's brilliant." Porthos just shrugged.

"You're right, however, Athos. I, for one, do not intend to let our little brother down." Porthos and Athos both agreed wholeheartedly. For d'Artagnan was not just a stray Gascon puppy any longer, he was their responsibility. He was now a Musketeer, after all.


	21. Greatest of Us All

A/N: **WARNING: Character death & Funeral Scene.**

Pretty sure you can guess from the title who it is that dies. this was for a kinkmeme prompt. Apologies in advance for any sobbing this may induce. *hands out hot cocoa and marshmallows and blankets*

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><p>He was to be the greatest of them all.<br>That was what Athos had said. And the promising but raw Gascon farm boy had proven it to them all in his fight with Labarge. He had proven his courage and loyalty, and his skill with a sword. That had been so many years ago. But it was that same damned loyalty to his friends that got him killed, when it should have been them to fall.

They had all been injured, except him, and, ignoring their pleas to leave them and save himself, he dragged each one off of the battlefield to be tended by the medics. Despite the constant roar of musket fire, he turned back again and again for his men - for he was their Captain now, and he could do no less for them.

Athos held his trembling hands in fists as they lowered the coffin into the ground. At his side, Porthos was all but holding Aramis upright as he, usually the most charismatic and charming of the lot of them, stared ahead with dead eyes. Athos could see in them all his losses tallied. His friends at Savoy, Marsac, Adele... And now d'Artagnan, who they all would have followed into the fiery jaws of hell, had joined the ranks of the fallen. Athos watched Porthos stay strong for Aramis - if he fell apart, who would the priest to be have to lean on? No one. Athos had once again had a man who he considered a younger brother ripped from him.

Closing his eyes, he remembered that day, when the sound of the battle finally died, and they'd won, and he had been tended to and was now lying on a makeshift bed in their camp, and d'Artagnan had been limping in, dragging a bloodied and unconscious Aramis, who he had handed to the medics, and once they had him, d'Artagnan had spotted Athos on the bed and made towards him, collapsing at his side.

Athos, who had been overjoyed at seeing his friends return, was now overtaken by a dread he had not felt since Thomas had been dying in his arms.  
>"d'Artagnan?" He asked softly, turning his head. Their captain was holding a hand over his ribs, and blood was pooling around his fingers, his face contorted in a grimace of agony. "You're wounded! Call for a medic, you fool." But, ever the stubborn Gascon, d'Artagnan refused.<br>"They are stretched too far already - let them help those who can be saved. I am not long for it, and I think you... you know that as well as I, Athos." Athos reached out to grab d'Artagnan's free hand and squeeze it tightly. D'Artagnan smiled.

"We have long been good friends, my dear Athos. I owe you so much, and I must confess that I regret leaving you like th-" he was cut off when a deep breath caused a coughing fit that ended with blood dripping down from the corners of his mouth. Athos saw how his eyes were dimming, and, paying little mind to his own injuries, he got down beside d'Artagnan and held him in his arms.

"Please, please, not yet. You're still young, you-"  
>"Hush, now, Athos. You know- that's not-" He closed his eyes and bit his lip to stop from crying out from the pain. Porthos, who had only had a head wound, had now woken to find this scene, and he knelt next to them, hands hovering as if they could be useful, but seeing the shake of d'Artagnan's head as he lifted it and smiled up at him broke him out of the illusion that it was not too late. He fell to his knees next to them and between them, they held him as he tried to breathe - the sound of their youngest friend drowning in his own blood was too much to bear, yet they would not, could not, leave him to die alone.<p>

"Take... care of each other - promise... promise me that." He whispered with great difficulty. "A...thos" He managed, with great difficulty, to sit up and face his friend, gripping his shirt as desperately as Athos had that night so many years ago, when La Ferre was burning to the ground behind them. "Don't... do anything... reck...less. I don't want to see you for a good long time, understand?"

"Is that an order, captain?" Athos managed to smile through his tears when d'Artagnan rolled his eyes.  
>"It is if it has to be, soldier." His eyes flickered up to Porthos again, who was trying so very hard not to shake with his own sobs. "Look after them, Porthos. Get them into trouble, keep... keep them busy. Don't let... Aramis blame himself for this when he wakes up, either. It was my choice to save him. Don't let him think anything else." Porthos nodded, not trusting himself to speak, just tightening his grip with shaking hands. D'Artagnan closed his eyes and let out a sigh.<br>"I will miss you, mes amis" His body went limp, and-

It did not seem real. He refused to replay end of that memory. He wanted nothing more than to drown in drink, to forget, but it was his duty, his duty to bury the friend who for so long had been the only one who could raise him from the living dead - and one who he had done much the same for after the death of Constance Bonacieux. He is with her now, he told himself - as if that thought brought any comfort when he could still feel the blood on his hands, slick and warm. Athos was sick and tired of duty, but he would serve as a musketeer until he, too, fell, as he was too good a Catholic to put a bullet in his own brain. Aramis would go into the Church, as he had always promised to do. Porthos would marry his Alice. Perhaps they would have a child and name it Charles, after their fallen friend. But for now, the three would stay together, as d'Artagnan had asked of them. Until they were sure they would not do anything overly rash.

Athos took a deep breath and walked forward. There were so many people - Charles d'Artagnan had been well loved by his Musketeers, and by the subjects of Paris. Standing before the grave, he glanced at Porthos, who nodded, and Aramis stood up straighter, waiting to hear what Athos had to say.

"Charles d'Artagnan... to call him a good man would be accurate, yet not praise enough - he was the best of men, the truest and most loyal friend a man could be blessed with the fortune of possessing. For many years, Porthos, Aramis and I have shared that blessing, and none are more stricken by his loss than we.  
>As many of you know, we were called the Inseparables, even before d'Artagnan joined our ranks. Which I think, by now, perhaps all of France knows the tale of" There were a few sad chuckles, and Athos allowed himself a rueful smile as he once again met his friends' eyes. "He gave us life again, a purpose - he was the glue that held us together. He was a devoted Musketeer, and there was no man I would rather serve under - it was his devotion to his soldiers, to his friends and brothers in arms that made him the man he was, and there was no way he would rather have gone down than protecting them - protecting us. He should be remembered for his honour, his devotion, and the love he bore his friends" He swallowed back the tears and clenched his firsts tighter, and he felt a hand on his shoulder, turning around to see Aramis give a small smile and Porthos on his other side. Sharing a glance, they all drew and raised their swords together, overlapping, as they had done many times before.<p>

One was missing. From now onward, one would always be missing.

It did not feel right saying it out loud, but in their hearts, the words rang out.

One final salute

A last farewell.

**Un pour tous, tous pour un.**

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><p>Reviews are always welcome! 3 (again, I apologise for this chapter)<p> 


	22. Brotherhood

A/N: So this starts off angsty but cheers up towards the end. Not long, but it took me a whole day of procrastinating on it to get it done.

I promise I'll try and get a Constance POV done at some point, because I've been neglecting her but idk, I just find the guys so much easier to write about, it's not because I don't like her, because she is amazing but I don't know if I can do her justice in my writing - but I will give it a shot :D

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><p>When Athos took his usual place in the corner of the tavern, the last thing he expected was for d'Artagnan to join him. He did not want the questions or the pity that the boy's eyes so often held, he did not want that, not after seeing his wife again - <em>kissing<em> her, by God, what had he been _thinking_? But d'Artagnan said nothing as he set down two bottles of wine on the table, one for Athos, and one for himself. Athos raised an eyebrow at that - surely the boy should be celebrating his well earned commission from the king?

D'Artagnan's glare warned him off asking anything, so he just watched as he took a swig and grimaced at the burning in the back of the throat. Good God, Athos realised with a startled jolt - the boy's heart had been broken. But the only woman he had ever spent time with to Athos' knowledge was Madame Bonacieux - would he and Constance have...? No, it couldn't be, he knew Constance, she wouldn't have done that to the boy. And besides, he'd said he'd found a patroness when he had managed to get the thirty livres... But d'Artagnan was not the type to fall for someone that fast, so he could not understand-

D'Artagnan just sighed and took another drink, then set the bottle down again, staring at it intently, as if it might hold some sort of answer, before glancing over at where Porthos was playing cards and Aramis was watching with an appreciative smirk - it seemed that he'd improved his card-hiding skills.

"Don't, Athos. Just-"d'Artagnan's voice was quiet, and it wavered, and Athos felt his heart go out in sympathy for the young man. Whatever had caused it, his pain was still raw - and who was he to admonish someone for trying to drink until he no longer felt anything? So he just reached a hand out across the table and squeezed d'Artagnan's hand reassuringly.

"Alright," he whispered, knowing d'Artagnan wouldn't want the others to hear. Thankfully they were too engrossed in their merriment to take any heed of the two of them, "but remember that you're not alone." He looked d'Artagnan in the eyes, hated the haunted and frightened look he found their - unsure of who to trust, not knowing who he could confide in. He was vulnerable, and he was hurting. Athos would do anything he could to alleviate that.

"I, at least, understand what it is to be betrayed by one who you would have trusted with everything." D'Artagnan visibly recoiled at his words - so his suspicions were correct, then. Athos' gaze softened sadly, and his eye drifted to the bottle of wine, which d'Artagnan had emptied. Sighing, he pushed his own forward for d'Artagnan to take. At the boy's raised eyebrow, Athos merely shrugged. "You need it more than I do, tonight. Besides, someone has to carry you home." D'Artagnan rolled his eyes.

"I'm not that drunk yet." He argued, and Athos had to fight a smile.

"That might be the longest sentence you've said all day." He said, with something akin to relief. "We are your family now, d'Artagnan, and we will never forsake you." He assured the younger man. D'Artagnan looked once more at the bottle in his hands and shoved it away.

"Let someone else have it. God knows, we already have one brooding drunkard, I don't think the Musketeers have room for another." It was a relief to see a genuine smile on that face again, and it warmed Athos' heart to see it once more. He nodded, returning the smile with his own as they stood and he squeezed the young Gascon's arm reassuringly before they walked over to their friends.

"D'Artagnan!" Porthos bellowed, and the grins and backslaps that he gave freely were a comfort - something solid, sturdy, that could be relied upon. He understood what Aramis had meant, back at the Court of Miracles,

_This is Porthos, you understand?_

He did, now. Porthos was unswervingly loyal, to all of them - not just to the Musketeers, but to Aramis and Athos, and now, it seemed, to him as well.

Aramis ruffled his hair fondly at his other side

"Welcome to the family, little brother" d'Artagnan froze under his hand and looked up, eyes glistening. Aramis was smiling warmly, just as he had when they'd hugged after d'Artagnan officially became a Musketeer. At his nod, d'Artagnan looked at Porthos, who clapped him on the shoulder and pulled him over for a one armed embrace.

"Always wanted a kid brother," he grinned, "someone to teach all my tricks, since these two are such sticks in the mud about it." To prove his point, he flashed the king of hearts that he had stashed up his sleeve.

"Now, now, Porthos, don't go corrupting the boy already!" Aramis quipped laughingly. D'Artagnan felt warm and safe, and _loved_. He looked up at Athos, who was watching from the side, leaning on one of the support beams, with a melancholy fondness in his smile. When he saw d'Artagnan turn in his direction, he stood straight, and waited for the boy to approach him. There was an uncertainty in the Gascon's eyes, and Aramis and Porthos were silent, knowing that this was an important moment for the two of them.

When d'Artagnan moved forward, Athos placed his hands firmly on the young man's shoulders, gripping them tightly. D'Artagnan looked up and saw clearly the emotions on Athos' face as he took a deep breath and then embraced him tightly, which surprised d'Artagnan as Athos was usually a fan of less obvious affection than this, but then he heard him whisper: "There is no man alive that I would rather honour with calling them my brother than you." D'Artagnan felt so overwhelmed that there was nothing he could do but return the embrace. Even if he never loved a woman again, he felt secure in this, he could trust this - and if he had nothing else but this, he could be content, in the warmth and support that he had found in these men who he would bleed for, die for, and know without a doubt that they would do the same for him.


	23. My Brother Used To Say That

A/N: Phew! Much longer chapter than usual, this time. This one is for Richefic, who was in need of lots of hugging. so, lots of hugging and brotherly love. This was so much work, but I really enjoyed writing this chapter

also warning for d'art mentioning that he'd thought about self-harm in the past.

HUGS FROM EVERYONE THOUGH

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><p>They were camped in the woods yet again, on their way to deliver an important missive on behalf of the king, and d'Artagnan looked around at his friends and smiled. Aramis was in charge of cooking, and Porthos was badgering him about how he would make a lovely wife for someone one day. D'Artagnan opened his mouth to make a comment about how Constance would have his head if he suggested that cooking was the only thing a wife was good for, when he remembered, Constance - no, Madame Bonacieux - had betrayed him. Damn. He had managed not to think about it, but in these quiet moments, he almost couldn't bear it. He had a new empathy for Athos and his drinking, though it was a route he refused to allow himself. He couldn't add another burden to his friends lives by becoming a morose drunkard. Instead, he strived to become the best soldier he could. Sighing, he leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes. He did not notice Athos looking over at him with growing concern, after sharing a look with the others at the lack of usual banter from their young friend.<p>

But when d'Artagnan opened his eyes again he was smiling brightly, and if Athos hadn't seen the previous look of utter devastation on his face, he would have been fooled.

"Here you go!" Aramis said brightly as he handed their youngest recruit his share of the soup - which he took gladly, and dug into it heartily. Porthos chuckled.

"Gotta make sure the growin' lad eats his vegetables, right? Or else you'll never grow a beard" He joked, and d'Artagnan just rolled his eyes instead of glaring - he was used to their teasing now.

"Funny," he mused quietly, "my brother used to say that". He immediately froze when he realised that he'd said that out loud and cursed under his breath when Athos turned sharply to stare at him in shock. The other two looked up at him curiously as well.

"You've never mentioned having a brother before." Athos said evenly, questioningly - accusingly, d'Artagnan realised - but the Gascon just shrugged, sighing, before meeting the eyes of the men who he had come to see as his brothers in their own right.

"He's dead." He told them simply, holding Athos' gaze, noting the shock and the sad sympathy behind the troubled Musketeer's eyes. He leaned forward and grasped the young man's shoulder tightly, and d'Artagnan heard all that he meant to say with the touch. Smiling tightly, he nodded his thanks. Porthos and Aramis shared a look, before Aramis cleared his throat,

"So... can you tell us what happened?" He asked softly, wanting d'Artagnan know that they would not press him - not now, anyway, but he had a feeling Athos would, as soon as they were out of earshot of the others. Nonetheless, he smiled at Aramis' kind consideration as he set his bowl down and let out a long sigh.

"There's not much to tell, really. He went off to fight in the wars and he never... never came home." His hand went to the sword at his side, "they brought this back, though, said... that he had wanted me to have it." His voice hitched, thinking about the day when the soldiers had been returning -_ he had been so excited, searching each face in the hope of finding his brother, but they all just looked at him with pitying gazes until one of them placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head, and apologised for not saving Robert and let the young Charles d'Artagnan sob into his chest until he was too much of a trembling wreck to do anything but be carried home by this stranger, this comrade of his brothers' who spoke as though he had lost a brother himself. He had been the one to hand Charles the sword after informing Alexandre of the circumstances of his eldest son's demise. His eyes had lingered on Charles, asking silently for forgiveness, which he gave freely. But he still felt that hollow ache, that emptiness, long after they had left. He listened to his father cry himself to sleep, but he had no such rest that night. Everywhere he went in his restless wanderings of the house, he was haunted by Robert's... not his presence, but his absence. It was as if part of him had been torn out, some necessary limb wrenched from him. The world was cold, so cold without his brother. He didn't want to live without his brother-_

Someone was calling his name, and he blinked, realising when he felt a sharp sting in his cheek that he'd been slapped. He blinked up at Aramis, who was watching him concernedly.

"Sorry" He mumbled, and Porthos snorted and shook his head from over the other side of the fire. Athos was silent, but he was worried.

"Want to talk about it?" Aramis asked softly. D'Artagnan could feel himself shaking as he took a deep breath, Aramis kept a steadying hand on his shoulder, which he was grateful for, as it grounded him firmly in the present. He almost automatically shook his head, but when he saw the looks of concern on their faces, especially Athos', he decided that he owed them the truth.

"I... I didn't cope very well, for the first year." He admitted, "Robert... he was - well, he always had time for me when father was busy with the farm. He always made time to spar with me - at least until he met Helena - he adored her. But she left him, and he was heartbroken, so he became a soldier." He smiled ruefully at the irony, "I remember thinking over and over how _stupid_ he was for enlisting just because of some woman. Now... I suppose I understand where he was coming from" He looked up at Athos and met his eyes when he said that last, and was offered a sad smile in return, "I... at first it... it didn't seem real, I suppose. He was my big brother, always there, always - how could he be gone? And father..." He pulled his arms around himself, "There was only the two of us left, and we didn't exactly talk much." He kept his eyes downcast as he told the next part. "I... everything was just so numb- I just. I wanted to feel _something_" He couldn't help the way he rubbed at his wrists, which Aramis caught immediately.

"Tell me you didn't." He gasped in horror. D'Artagnan kept his eyes downcast, not wanting to see the disappointment in them.

"No, I thought about it- but I never actually-" And that was all he was going to say on the matter. He wasn't going to say that his father had found him with a knife hovering just above his wrist and had shouted and cried until he was hoarse and held his only living son like he would never let go. They'd been close after that, and then his father had died, and somehow, that had turned into his becoming close with the man he had mistakenly accused of his murder become friends with them all, become a little brother again. Oh god. What if he lost them too? What if-

He was swept into a hug by Aramis, and was slightly startled to find that there were tears streaming down his dear friend's face. Aramis was holding onto him as if he could not bear to let go, and d'Artagnan, though confused, found that deeply comforting.

"It's alright, Aramis. It was a long time ago, now. I'm-"

"If you say fine, young man, I will let Porthos punch you" Athos warned from somewhere over Aramis' shoulder, "because that is the last thing you are. We brought up memories you'd likely rather weren't brought to the surface." D'Artagnan couldn't quite find it in himself to smile, but just relax into the warmth that Aramis was offering.

"How long ago?" Porthos asked from where he was still tending the fire. He seemed to be content to let the boy have his space for now, seeing as Aramis was providing the physical contact and he didn't want to crowd him, but later, the kid was due for a Porthos-sized bear-hug.

"f...five years." D'Artagnan told him, and Aramis' grip tightened further, even as Athos' eyes darkened. "Seems everything happens five years ago" he mumbled, just loud enough for only Aramis to hear, and he pulled back a little to eye him curiously. D'Artagnan subtly gestured toward Athos with his eyes, and Aramis made a silent "o" of understanding with his mouth. Without letting on any more than that, Aramis just nodded and sighed.

"Well, I can't say I don't understand that feeling, because I do." He told d'Artagnan, thinking back to the weeks and months directly following Savoy. But he had had Porthos and Athos to hold him in the present, to keep him moving forward - d'Artagnan, it seemed, had no such security, but had been left to deal with the loss of his brother in complete solitude. "But hush now, let's not think of such things any more. Best get some rest before we head off. First light, wasn't it, Athos?" d'Artagnan gaped at Aramis' decision not to press any further, but found himself grateful for it.

They settled down for the night, Athos keeping watch as his friends slept - well, Porthos and Aramis were asleep, but d'Artagnan did not seem able to rest. He sighed and went to sit next to the boy, who was lying staring into the dying embers of the fire. When he heard Athos moving and heard him sit down, he turned over, looking up into eyes full of unabashed concern and compassion. He felt ashamed that he hadn't trusted him with this before. He opened his mouth to apologise, but Athos just shook his head, smiling sadly.

"I can understand why you didn't say anything, lad. Of all people, I understand that - so do not feel that it is something you must feel guilty for" d'Artagnan shook his head furiously at that.

"No, I should have trusted you with- especially-" Athos cut him off with a gentle hand on his shoulder and a shake of his head.

"It's not about trust, d'Artagnan. And I would not wish for you to feel beholden to tell me your secrets for the simple fact I have told you mine." D'Artagnan smiled a little at Athos' astounding kindness and understanding.

"I... thank you."

They were quiet for a time, and d'Artagnan found himself remembering when he'd spent the long quiet nights with nothing to listen to but his brother's breathing, when they'd been young and shared the bed in winter for warmth. It had been so comforting, so safe, held in Robert's arms and listening to the solid and steady thump of his heartbeats. That something so solid and seemingly dependable could be so easily stolen from him seemed impossible. His breath hitched as the memory, and the _absence_ of that touch came back to him. Athos seemed to sense this, and moved closer, pulling d'Artagnan up so that his head rested against his shoulder, causing the young man to look up at him in confusion.

"Athos?"

"Hush and go to sleep, little brother. I'll be here." The older man told him, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head as if it were an automatic impulse. D'Artagnan realised that he must have done this with Thomas before he died, and he relaxed into his friend's hold and let his eyes flutter closed. There were shirts and leather between them, but it comforted d'Artagnan to hear, once again, the steady _thud_ of a brother's beating heart.

"I think Rob would have liked you" he murmured as he drifted off into sleep, comfortable in Athos' arms. He had his eyes closed, but he knew Athos was smiling down at him.

"And I know, for a fact, that you and Thomas would have caused no end of mischief and driven me to drink even were there no murderous wife involved."

"You would have loved every second of it, in secret, don't you dare deny it." the young Gascon teased as he yawned.

"I do believe I told you to go to sleep, _mon petit frère."_ D'Artagnan grunted absently, and soon he was peaceful and his soft breaths reassurance enough for Athos that he did not suffer any nightmares. Nevertheless, he was loathe to let him go, partly because of the thought that if he did, it might trouble the boy's dreams, and partly because, in a way, by keeping d'Artagnan safe, he could keep a part of Thomas alive. It was strange, how easily d'Artagnan had fit with them, he had remembered thinking, but now it made perfect sense - he was searching for that guidance and direction that only an older brother could give - and he had found it in Athos, just as Athos had found in his youthful enthusiasm and overconfidence a second Thomas. They were broken pieces that fit together perfectly, it seemed, regaining in each other the ones whom they had lost. Sighing, he was surprised to find that there were tears streaming down his face - when had that happened? When was the last time he'd allowed himself that outlet of emotion? But then, it was not all as surprising as it seemed, seeing as d'Artagnan always seemed able to break down his walls - and damn it all, now he was feeling _everything_ again.

"I don't think I could survive it if anything happened to you," he whispered as he wrapped his arms all the more firmly around the sleeping Gascon. "So do try not to do anything foolish, alright? Like confronting criminals alone - or marrying one. Terrible idea, marriage - but you seem to think so now as well." He looked down, and d'Artagnan's face - free now in sleep of whatever had haunted him in his waking hours. "I just wish you'd tell me who it is that broke your heart. You've been strange these past few weeks, don't think we haven't noticed." Knowing that he would receive no answer tonight, he had to hope that simply holding d'Artagnan close would be comfort enough through the night.

Aramis woke first - he had dreamed of Marsac. It hadn't been a bad dream, as such, but merely a memory of happier times, which was almost worse, remembering the man who he used to be, and then remembering that he had killed him. It was all this talk of d'Artagnan's brother which had brought it up - and hadn't that been a surprise? He had not meant to tell them, that much had been obvious, and Aramis dreaded to think, knowing what he did now, how the boy would react if anything were to befall one of them. Stretching, he went to get up only to stop when he saw the most curious sight.

D'Artagnan's head was laid in Athos' lap whilst the older man was absently stroking his hair to soothe him. Such tender affections were beyond what he had known of his friend, but then again... there was what d'Artagnan had tried to hint to him earlier... but he shook off that thought and merely raised a curious eyebrow in Athos' direction.

"He couldn't sleep" was Athos' only answer, and Aramis accepted it, remembering the haunted look in the young lad's eyes that he never wanted to see again if he could help it. Little wonder that Athos was feeling protective - Aramis had seen how much of a soft spot the man had for their impetuous little Gascon. Still, Aramis gave d'Artagnan a gentle nudge with his boot to wake him,

"Rise in shine, sleeping beauty. We've a long day's ride ahead of us."

"What does that make you," the boy groaned groggily, "my knight in shining armour?" Aramis chuckled, and Porthos, who had heard, snorted.

"If you mean is he Lancelot, then the answer is yes." D'Artagnan screwed his eyes up in confusion momentarily before staring up at Aramis in horror.

"Please tell me you're not that stupid?" Aramis opened his mouth to tell him that of course he wasn't when Porthos came over and sat down next to them all, having packed up his things.

"He gave her the Stare."

"You are an idiot and going to get yourself killed" Athos admonished, whilst d'Artagnan, now that he'd gotten over the shock of _Aramis and the Queen_, laughed bitterly.

"Nothing good comes from falling in love with a married woman." There was a jaded tone to his voice that spoke like experience, and the others all shared a look above his head as he rubbed his eyes and sat up to stretch, "but if you want to lose either your head or your heart, by all means, go ahead."

Understanding and shock passed between the three men who were stood over him, and Aramis was the first to speak.

"I cannot believe that Constance would-" d'Artagnan cut him off by lunging forward and grabbing him by the cuff, the hand that gripped it trembling in anger.

"_Do you think I want to?_" he demanded, before seeing the surprise and sympathy in Aramis' eyes. "Sorry... sorry. I didn't- I just..." the tears started before he could hold himself in check - head before heart be damned - and before he knew it he was being gathered up in strong, familiar arms - _Porthos._ Porthos' hugs squeezed, but that was good, it made him feel secure enough to get his breathing under control again and compose himself. After taking a moment just to get his emotions in check, he pulled away from his tall friend, wiping at his eyes furiously before clearing his throat.

"Well, we should be on our way - it wouldn't do to be late." He began packing up his things and buckling his saddlebags onto the horse's back whilst the others watched him with thinly veiled concern.

"d'Artagnan-" Athos began, as he had silently decided with the other two that he should be the one to talk to him, but the Gascon just shrugged off the hand on his shoulder and moved to mount his horse.

"Not now, Athos. I really don't want to talk about it right now. Besides, we have a mission to complete and we do not have the time to waste. Head over heart, right?" It was awful to know that d'Artagnan had become jaded so young, but Athos could not say that he did not sympathise. He knew Constance Bonacieux, though - she was not the type of woman to do this, to play so cruelly with a young man's heart - but then, hadn't he thought that about his wife, as well? But finding out the truth would have to wait.

"Alright. You are correct of course, we have our duty to king and country to uphold." He conceded, but he still kept a worried eye on d'Artagnan as they rode.

"Duty..." d'Artagnan mused. If he could hold onto his duty, the belief that he was doing what was right, and if he could hold onto his brothers, he would be alright.

They urged their horses onward and rode their horses almost into the ground to the ground to complete their errand on time. D'Artagnan knew from the looks sent his way that were meant to be subtle that they were going to push him for more eventually, but for now, they'd let him be. As brothers, they understood the need to lick ones wounds, but they would only let him be miserable for so long before they interfered, and he found that he didn't so much mind the thought of that.

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><p>Hope you all enjoyed reading that as much as I did writing it! Please leave a review, they make me happy :)<p> 


	24. Remembering A Brother

A/N: This is inspired by The Forgotten Nobody's stories wherein d'Artagnan has a little brother called Mathieu. Wasn't how I'd originally intended this, but I hope you enjoy it anyway

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><p>If it had been any other day d'Artagnan would have been - not alright, but he would have been managing. As it was, it was the five year anniversary of his brother's death, and his farm had just been burned to the ground. He felt like he'd failed his whole family, and then add the whole sorry affair with Const- he couldn't even think her name without tears burning behind his eyes. He loved her, damn it, and he couldn't stop, no matter what she said to him, and it broke him every day to wake up and know that he could not go to her, that she would not welcome him with her soft kisses and tender caresses - but apparently, those had all been a lie.<p>

He resisted the urge to punch the wall. They were thin, after all, and Athos was lodged next door to him. The last thing he wanted was to tell Athos about this. He'd wanted so badly the past few days to drown himself in drink, but he'd not even touched a tankard of ale, for he was an honest drunk, and this was his burden to bear and his alone. There was no point in concerning the others with it. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling tired and torn and full of grief. He wanted nothing more than to collapse back into bed and the blessed blackness of sleep.

But then there was a knock on the door.

"d'Artagnan?" The voice was hesitant, which was odd, considering that this was Athos. D'Artagnan frowned. Treville had given them a day's leave, by way of apology for his seeming dismissal of d'Artagnan last week, but if he was being honest, the miserable Gascon would have preferred to be on duty - then, at least, he could have kept his mind on the task at hand. He was about to ask what the other man wanted when the man called again, "d'Artagnan, let me in, _please_." More because he was in stunned shock at Athos saying _please_ than any other reason, he got up and opened the door.

Athos took one look at him and frowned. The questioning tilt of his head meant that he wanted to know what was bothering his young friend, who he had come to see like a brother. D'Artagnan did not have the energy to argue with him, not today.

"Sit, d'Artagnan" Athos spoke softly, as if it were a suggestion, and not an order. D'Artagnan knew better, so he sat down on the bed, waiting for whatever lecture or reproof the older Musketeer deigned to give him resignedly, keeping his eyes on the floor. Instead of saying anything, Athos cupped his cheek and looked into his eyes for a long moment, and d'Artagnan half fancied that Athos could see through into his very soul. But that was nonsense.

"d'Artagnan - what did you mean, when you arrived at the contest?" Of all the questions the other man could have asked, this was not one that d'Artagnan had quite expected, so it threw him off guard.

"It doesn't matter." He turned away from Athos' grasp, despite the comfort it gave him. He did not deserve it, he was-

"d'Artagnan, _stop that_." Athos growled. "Please, tell me what is troubling you - I beg of you. It hurts me to see you like this." He admitted quietly, "so let me help you." Seeing no change in d'Artagnan's eyes he sighed. "Fine, if you will not tell me why it is you, of all people, have lost faith in love, then perhaps you might tell me the other troubles you have?"

"It's worse today." D'Artagnan started, his voice a hoarse whisper. "It's always worse. Five years, five years to the day." He leant forward, his shoulders slumped, and his breath catching as he desperately held back the tears that he knew were desperate to break through the wall he'd built in his mind. He held his head in his hands. "Five years since I heard my brother's voice, since I saw him smile, and... and-" He pressed his eyes tightly shut, but it did nothing to dim the images which still flashed in stark relief across his eyelids, "since I held him in my arms and-" _blood blood so much blood I have to make it stop but it won't stop oh god I'm so sorry Mathieu wake up wake up please don't go-_

"D'ARTAGNAN!" Athos's harsh growl brought him back to himself, but he was still shaking like a leaf - he hadn't had a flashback like that in years. Athos was unsure how to deal with him in this state - how would he react to touch? Would he welcome it or would he lash out? Athos decided to risk it, and pull the young man into his arms. Immediately, d'Artagnan relaxed in his embrace and his breathing returned to normal. "Hush, hush, my lad, it's alright, it wasn't your fault." D'Artagnan snorted bitterly,

"So you say"

"So I know." Athos retorted, "Because I know _you_ d'Artagnan, and I know you well enough that you would have done anything and everything you could to save him. Sometimes, though, it just isn't enough - and it hurts you and it breaks you, but that does not make it your fault. It was not the fault of anyone but those who decided to attack children for sport." He tried to reassure the boy, but inside, he was reeling - the loss of the farm, coupled with the upcoming anniversary of his brother's death - no wonder he had been reckless in his first confrontation with Labarge. "Do you think... would it help to talk about what happened?" d'Artagnan swallowed thickly, and thought for a long moment, before drawing a shaky breath and nodding.

"I... they'd taken the food and supplies we had gone to gather. They didn't care... they were just going to leave us out in the cold. But... Mathieu... he should have kept his damned mouth shut. He insulted them, called them cowards." D'Artagnan was shaking again, the tears streaming freely down his face. His next words were flat and emotionless, "They didn't much like that. I tried- I _tried _so hard to stop them, but they were grown men, and brutes, and they knocked me out of the way. They-" He clenched his fists as he forced the words out - "they held me down and made me watch as they slit my baby brother's throat. He was just ten, Athos - ten years old. Little Mathieu, mon petit frère."

There were twin gasps from behind the door, and it creaked open to reveal Aramis and Porthos, who were too shocked to be embarrassed that they had been caught eavesdropping. Athos looked up and glared at them, but d'Artagnan just looked up at them with a weary smile.

"You might as well come in, then." He told them resignedly. "I'm assuming that you more or less heard everythi-" before he could finish speaking, he was swept up into a hug by Aramis, who crushed him to his chest. D'Artagnan tried to protest, but his face was tucked into Aramis' shoulder so all that came out were garbled protests.

"You poor, poor boy." Aramis' grip on him tightened and he looked to Porthos for help, but the taller Musketeer just sat down next to him and patted him on the back.

"Athos make them get off, _please_" he begged when he had managed to wriggle out of Aramis' grasp a little, but Athos was just smiling his little half smile.

"Feeling better?" He asked kindly. And d'Artagnan realised, in this warm press of familiar bodies, that he did. Smiling, he put his own arms around his friends and held them close, vowing never to be helpless in the face of one of his brothers in danger again.

"But don't think this means I forgive you for almost killing him with your damned horse, Athos." The chuckle that gained him was music to his ears and he grabbed Athos so that he too was part of their pile-up of idiot brothers, all relishing in the fact that they were alive, and that they were together.

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><p>I have loads of things to work through still, but if you have any requests, do feel free to message me with them<p>

Also reviews are golden and help keep me writing with a smile on my face :)


	25. Rescue I

A/N: sort of continued on from "My Brother Used to Say That". Basically they're just rescuing d'art because he did something stupid like gave himself up to save them all. and lots of whump and angst, so enjoy, my lovelies.

Will try and get a second part up soon.

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><p>Athos gaped in trembling terror at the sight before him - d'Artagnan had been shackled to the wall, and there was blood dripping down his bare back, his torso bruised and battered. He looked so pale, so still, that for a horrible, heart wrenching moment, he thought they had come too late.<p>

But at the sound of his involuntary gasp, the boy's head had shot up, eyes first darting about in fear, and then in relief as he recognised his friend.

"Athos...you came." He rasped, sagging against his chains, like the last of his energy was completely used up in the sad smile that he gave the older man. Athos wasted no more time and rushed forward, taking the key he had removed from the guard's belt after he had killed him and removing d'Artagnan's bonds to reveal awful purple welts on his wrists before lowering him gently to the ground, with his head in Athos' lap. He stroked the boy's hair out of his face, which was marred by a black eye and a split lip. He could not help the burning tears that threatened behind his eyes.

"Of course I did, you young fool." He admonished hoarsely, his voice trembling with emotion as he took in the ragged, pained breaths, and the shivering despite the fact that the boy's brow was on fire. "We could never leave you - not to this, little brother." He closed his eyes a moment to compose himself, when he heard the clatter of footsteps and voices which he recognised as Porthos and Aramis.

"In here! I found him!" He yelled to them, and they came rushing in, at first looking happy, but then when they saw the condition their young Gascon was in, Porthos cursed, and Aramis gasped before kneeling down at his side, eyes steely as he forced himself to look over the boy's injuries with an objective eye. The black eye and bleeding lip were the least of his worries right now, so he focused on the black and purple mess that was d'Artagnan's torso - but as soon as his hands so much as brushed it, the boy's eyes opened and he gasped in pain, before his eyes darted around wildly, searching for a new threat, a new tormentor.

"It's alright d'Artagnan, you're with us now, you're safe." Athos consoled as Aramis, after determining that the ribs were badly bruised, but not broken, turned the boy on his side, and he bit back a curse. At the side, Porthos' fists were clenched, and he was trembling with rage, but for d'Artagnan's sake, he was keeping it in check. Not one inch of the young man's back was free from the lashes left behind by the whip. Not all of them bled, but those that did would need stitches. Aramis removed a glove and felt his forehead with a bare hand. He met Athos' eyes, his face grave.

"He has a fever, and that, combined with his injuries... if he is to have any chance of surviving this, we need to get him treated now."Athos looked from the boy in his arms to Aramis and back again, his heart held in an icy grip - this couldn't be happening _again_. He nodded once, shortly, and allowed Porthos to lift d'Artagnan, though the keening whimper of desperate agony put them all on edge.

Athos' thoughts were dark as they hurried out of the old disused cellar. Dieu. Everywhere he looked there were skeletons or half-rotted corpses chained up against the walls. He wanted to be sick when the thought that d'Artagnan could have very well been one of those bodies. His fist tightened until he would have drawn his own blood, were his hands not gloved. The idiot had been so stupid, tried to protect the rest of them, and they'd carted him off and there hadn't been anything else that they could do but head back to the garrison to bring reinforcements. Even Treville had come, as he was as fond of the boy as anyone else. He was waiting as the rest of the men routed the bandits who had been plaguing the villages around Paris, and felt relief at first when he saw his three men with their missing musketeer - but froze upon seeing their expressions and the limp form Porthos carried. When they reached the cart for the wounded, they found Roger, who had been a medic with them for as long as any of them could remember, and laid d'Artagnan carefully down

"Is he...?" Treville's question hung in the air, and it was Aramis who answered him

"He's alive... for now." He quietly told the captain, his voice deceptively calm, though his eyes were brimming with tears. Roger assisted Aramis with the cleaning of d'Artagnan's back, but paused when he noticed the sword that was laid at his side. He recognised that sword. He looked from the weapon to its owner and back again. Aramis did not notice this, as he was busy stitching the worst of the open welts on d'Artagnan's back - which he was disturbingly unresponsive to. Athos, who was keeping a bare hand on their youngest brother's chest to reassure himself of the fact his heart was still beating, did notice.

"What?" He asked the man, not understanding his confusion.

"Is... is his name Charles?" The man asked. Athos' eyes widened as he nodded. Roger bit his lip as he looked down at the young Gascon, whose breathing was only getting shallower. He took a deep breath and his features were set into an expression of grim determination.

"And he's as much of a brave damned fool as Robert ever was, from the look of him" Three pairs of eyes snapped up at him as he continued. "I know that sword. Its' owner kept saving my life. One day, it cost him his own, and he asked me to take it home, so that it might serve his younger brother as well as it had served him." He paused, frowning. "Rob never went by d'Artagnan, though. Called himself Batz."

"mmm. Charles-Ogier de Batz-Castlemore d'Artagnan is m' full name, if y' must know. " came a muffled voice from below them. They all started in surprise, and Roger grinned down at him, relief evident on his face. Athos removed his hand now that d'Artagnan was awake and out of any immediate danger - there was, still however, the fever to deal with.

"Wait - Robert Batz? Really? _He_ was your brother?" Aramis exclaimed as he finished the last of the stitches and began to wrap d'Artagnan's torso in bandages. D'Artagnan nodded, frowning.

"He did like to call himself that sometimes - said the full name was too pretentious. Not like our family was really nobles anymore, so why cling to the name?" He snorted, but then winced, remembering his injured face. "Turns out the name is all I ended up having left." He sighed then - which was a terrible idea, it turned out, as it aggravated his ribs something awful. He grasped desperately at Aramis' wrist as he closed his eyes against the waves of agony. "_mordieu"_ he exclaimed quietly. Athos reached out a hand to cup the unblemished side of his face. D'Artagnan leaned into the touch and relaxed a little.

"Roger, go and fetch him something for the pain" The man gave a short nod and hurried off to find supplies. Aramis was quite happy to let himself be used to prop d'Artagnan up, and if that was partly because the warmth of the body beside him reassured him that d'Artagnan was still among the living.

"Y' knew m' brother?" He asked Aramis incredulously. His eyes were still closed. As Aramis hummed in agreement, Treville came over to see what was happening.

"How is he?" He asked, and his young countryman looked up at him with a weary smile.

"Alive, sir. Everything hurts, but I'm alive."

"Good." The captain smiled, because despite the battered body and whatever trauma d'Artagnan had been through, he had no doubt the stubborn idiot would pull through now that he had been tended to. "But no more of those heroics of yours." He heard Porthos snort at that.

"Captain, kid's Robert Batz little brother. I think heroics might just run in the blood." Treville blinked and stared at his newest recruit in amazement.

"Do I h'v t' say the whole name again?" He whined, but Athos took pity on him.

"Charles-Ogier de Batz-Castlemore d'Artagnan. Younger brother to Robert de Batz-Castlemore d'Artagnan, apparently." He then looked to the others questioningly, he had never heard of this man before. Aramis sighed and shifted a little as d'Artagnan sagged against him, breathing relaxed in sleep. It looked like he didn't need that pain draft after all.

"He was before your time with the regiment, Athos- was killed in action just a few months before you joined. There are only two men I know who would have stood any chance against him with a sword, and one of them is using me as a pillow. The other, naturally, is you." Treville nodded his agreement before turning his eyes to the sleeping Gascon.

"He was the best man I'd ever had in the regiment. I had no idea that he had any family - he kept to himself mostly."

"Drank a lot" Porthos provided. "Which I suppose makes sense, knowing there was a woman involved."

"Isn't there always?" Athos quipped dryly. He was too sober for all this confusion.

"So basically, what you're saying," Aramis provided, "is that Robert was very much like Athos so it's little wonder the boy's latched onto him."

"He's not latched-" Athos protested, but at Aramis' wide grin, he stopped with a groan. "I need wine." He did, too, because after all this, the worry, the horror, everything, the adrenaline had begun to wear off, and he sat down heavily against the wheel of the cart. "The fighting over yet?" he asked their captain, who nodded. "Yes. We should head back - is he well enough to be moved?" Aramis nodded.

"He should be. We need to keep an eye on that fever, though. Could take a turn for the worse during the night."

"Alright. Watch over him." He told his men, who responded with looks that translated to - _do you even have to ask?_

D'Artagnan, though unconscious, was breathing easier now, and it was something of a relief to all of them. Athos, though, felt... he wasn't sure, jealous, perhaps, of the thought of the others sharing memories of the brother who d'Artagnan had so greatly admired. But Porthos slapped him on the back and sat down next to him with a bottle of wine in hand.

"Stop moping. We got him back, he'll be alright - Aramis is just being a pessimist, you know fevers worry him more than the actual wounds." Athos made a vague sound of agreement and gladly downed the wine. It wasn't the best quality, but it would take the edge off.

"I know, and I know this is foolish of me but-" Porthos grinned and rolled his eyes as he understood.

"I only really knew _of _Batz. It was Aramis and... well, Marsac who were his friends. Even then, he never let anyone get too close. I don't think anyone knew he had a little brother. Only person he'd ever talk to was Roger. Poor sod insisted on informing his family personally, since Robert died saving his life." He paused. "kid must have been... fifteen maybe."

"What? D'Artagnan's only twenty?" Athos gasped, looking at his friend. Porthos nodded, looking incredulous that Athos didn't know this.

"Yeah, did you not know that?" Athos groaned and shook his head. There was no way he was going to be able to relax until the idiot had turned twenty four at least.

"And why is that?" Aramis asked from where he was seated underneath d'Artagnan. Athos' eyes widened when he realised that he had spoken out loud.

"'thos h'd li'l br'ther. Thomas. Died. M'rd'rd" Came the strained voice from Aramis' lap.

"Yes, thank you for your input, d'Artagnan" Athos snapped, which only earned him a glare from the others, and Porthos cleared his throat, obviously wanting an explanation.

"I had a younger brother called Thomas and my wife murdered him, can we leave it at that, please?" The twin looks of utter shock and horror he got were almost worth blurting it out. He was angry at d'Artagnan for almost dying and then for blurting that out - but he knew he shouldn't be, because it was likely just the fever talking, so he stalked off to tend to the horses before he said something stupid.

Porthos and Aramis were left with a semi-conscious Gascon and the numb shock of Athos' reveal. They shared a look, before staring down at d'Artagnan, deciding that his health was more important than their need for answers at present.

"r'b'rt..." d'Artagnan's voice was quiet, raspy, and he shivered and writhed in pain, but it was the mention of his long dead brother that put fear into the Musketeer's hearts. "miss y'u..." Aramis brushed a careful hand through his hair - his brow was on fire, and his breaths ragged and uneven. Aramis cursed.

"His fever's rising - I'm loathe to say this, but he might not make it through the night." He bit his lip as he tried to tend to his patient. "Go and fetch Roger, and then find Athos. Tell him our little brother needs him."


	26. Wrought in Blood and Flame I

A/N: Sorry this isn't the next part of "Rescue" but I've been working on this fill for the kinkmeme and this will also have a second part. No fear, though I will have the next part up soon enough :) If I haven't been killed by tonight's episode. Also have a Constagnan drabble of cuteness that I'm going to upload after this one. As always, reviews are welcome :)

AU for Commodities where d'Artagnan arrives a bit earlier and ends up getting stabbed by Milady.

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><p>Maybe he should have yelled for Athos when he saw the mansion up in flames, maybe he should have called out a warning, in the desperate hope of an answer, despite the growing dread in his heart - then he never would have seen <em>her<em>. As it was, he froze at the sight of that woman, who he knew to be a killer, kneeling over Athos with a dagger to his exposed throat. He'd heard Athos beg her to kill him - why would he want such a thing?

"Hello d'Artagnan - I was not expecting you to come back for your precious leader, not when he has been so terribly short with you of late. You could do so much better than the Musketeers - you have so much potential." Her smile was seductive, and he might have fallen for it if she didn't at that moment have a knife at Athos' throat. "Remember what you promised me, on that night we spent together?" She asked, and he was forced to meet her cold gaze, and he could remember those red, red lips, and the way, even when he had known her to be a monster, that her siren song called to him - forbidden and dangerous, but still ever so tempting.  
>"That was before I knew what you were" His glare was sharp, and he was determined not to fall for anything she might say. If she wished to murder Athos, she was going to have to get through him first, because there was no way he would allow that to happen as long as he was standing. She paused to stare at him in a way he couldn't quite decipher, before moving away from Athos and towards him, circling him like an enraged tiger, slow, deliberate, calculating, choosing the perfect moment to strike.<p>

"I can't quite tell if it's funny or tragic, really, that you're so much alike" she paused "So trusting, so easily manipulated - and look at you, drawn to me despite the fact you should know better. All I would have had to do, before you met him, would have been to point in his direction and say - oh! There's the man who tried to kill me, and you'd have run him through to avenge me, no questions asked. Such a noble little Gascon dog" she snarled the last word as she dug her knife into his flesh, just below the ribs, before pulling it out roughly, not caring that she caused him more pain.

He fell to his knees with a pained cry at Athos' side, and she watched them with a cruel smile as the pair glared defiantly back at her.

"I shall take my leave of you, gentlemen. Much as I'd love to stay and _watch,_" she looked to Athos as she said that, "I would really rather not burn to death myself." She curtsied mockingly and swept out of the room, with neither of them in any fit state to give chase, breathing erratic and painful because of the smoke, and in d'Artagnan's case, near impossible.

Athos had, up until d'Artagnan had been stabbed in the gut, watched in a stunned kind of daze - in part due to the blow from Anne's crude torch, but mostly at the fact that she spoke to d'Artagnan as if she knew him - as if they had met before - and apparently, they had. That had really floored him. For a moment he had even wondered whether the Gascon had betrayed him as well, but it soon became apparent that he was as much a victim of her deceptions as Athos had ever been.

Seeing the boy clutching at his stomach, blood dripping even from between his fingers had brought sobriety suddenly crashing down on him - and as the boy bit back his cries of pain, Athos lifted him and rose unsteadily to his feet.

"Easy lad, I've got you - I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" he murmured softly once he had him gathered up to his chest, keeping one of the boy's own hands pressed down on the wound. It was a comfort to feel those breaths against his skin - no matter how desperate his gulps were, he was still breathing - which meant not dead, and Athos planned to keep him that way. It wrenched at his heart to see him in this condition - and all because of _her._ Would those he cared about never cease to be her victims?

Athos looked for the best route of escape, despite d'Artagnan not being in any fit state to be moved. They couldn't stay in a burning building, not if they wanted to live. He had to make sure, at the very least, that d'Artagnan survived - if he didn't, Athos would never forgive himself. He wished, not for the first time, that this mission hadn't taken them anywhere near this cursed place. He refused to add the Gascon to those who took their final breath here. Not this boy who has wormed his way so adamantly through every wall he has built up and into his heart. If he were to lose d'Artagnan, then he might as well stop living; God help him, but he was in love with this boy.

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><p>He might not have Aramis' talent for stitching, but he is a soldier, and as such, can make a passable go of it, if no other possible aid is available. As it is, both Aramis and the village healer are too far away to be of any use to d'Artagnan at present, and there is a needle and thread in the boy's saddlebag, so he was prepared to make do. He propped the boy up against the nearest tree, and cleaned his hands on the grass and on his shirt - it wouldn't do for his fingers to slip. He rummaged in the saddlebag of d'Artagnan's mare for the supplies he needed, the needle, thread, and the brandy. Noticing when he returned that the Gascon's eyes had already begun to flutter shut, though he refused to let himself panic, he felt his heart lurch as he knelt next to him.<p>

"D'Artagnan, God damn you, stay awake." He growled, and they boy's eyes snapped open and searched for his.

"Athos?" He asked, sounding for all the world like a lost child. The older man gulped and nodded, glad that he was at least conscious. He wasted no further time and knelt by his side, tearing open his shirt and jacket to get a better view of the wound. It was bad, and it was bleeding heavily, but it hadn't been meant to be fatal. He breathed a sigh of relief - if she'd meant to kill him with that blow, she would have done so. For once, he blessed her cruelty, for it had saved d'Artagnan's life. Her wish for them to suffocate and burn as the house turned to charcoal around them - but he had no time to dwell on such thoughts when there was a life which needed saving. "Athos- hurts". Such a frank admission from the proud and brash Gascon was chilling, but Athos merely nodded and shushed him soothingly.

"I know it does, but just be strong a little longer for me, alright?" At d'Artagnan's nod, he wiped the blood away so he could see what he was working with, and then ripped a clean piece of shirt and soaked it in the brandy to clean it out, tuning out the whimpers that the action earned him. "d'Artagnan - can you look at me - can you do that?" The boy's gaze flickered up to him, and he fought not to flinch at the unwavering trust he found there - trust which he did not deserve. "I'm going to have to stitch it shut - it will be painful." D'Artagnan nodded in understanding, though his eyes were dazed. Sighing, Athos put the flask of brandy to his mouth, and the boy drank it automatically. "If you need to cry out, or scream, that's fine. I could never think any less of you for it." He assured him, though he saw that d'Artagnan was aware enough at least to sound indignant at the idea. "Trust me, d'Artagnan. There is no shame in tears shed in pain."

He bit his lip, before committing himself to pulling the needle through the Gascon's skin. It was not overly neat, but hopefully wouldn't leave _too_ unsightly a scar. D'Artagnan, true to form, refused to so much as whimper, but his face was ashen and he was biting his lip so hard he was drawing blood. Athos worked steadily, focusing on nothing other than the task at hand until he finished and tied off his needlework. He looked down at it with some satisfaction - it was more tidy than it had any right to be, considering how much alcohol he'd consumed and how unstable his emotions were right now. He gripped d'Artagnan's shoulder.

"It's over now, lad." The effect of his words were immediate - the Gascon went completely limp and let out a long sigh as his head fell back against the trunk of the tree. Athos stood and made to be rid of the bloodied needle, before collecting what spare bandages that remained in d'Artagnan's saddlebags - Athos thanked God that the boy had seemingly prepared for every eventuality, and absently wondered if perhaps he was any good at the mending of wounds himself - if not, he would have to teach him.

With the bandages now secure, he tucked one arm underneath d'Artagnan's knees, and the other around his shoulders, and hefted him up into his arms. He wasn't quite as heavy as Athos expected, but it was still quite the task to manage. He lifted him onto the horse and then mounted up behind him, having already tied d'Artagnan's mare to his own horse so she would not run away. The village was not far, and d'Artagnan needed rest. With those two thoughts in mind, he left behind his burning home, and the memories of Anne.


	27. After All Is Done

A/N: Again, apologies that this isn't a continuation of either of my incomplete two-parters (but I am working on Rescue atm, along with the next chapter of Building A Family, don't worry) I just had to do something about the fact that d'Artagnan got shot.

I also find it kind of funny that right after I'd had a conversation about how d'Artagnan hadn't really been seriously wounded on the show yet with ThorneofAcre - he got shot in the side. Like they'd heard us or something xD

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><p>D'Artagnan winced as he sat down - they hadn't exactly had time to relax, and with everything happening so quickly, he hadn't even had time to think of his wound. Now though, it was reminding him of its presence with a vengeance. Black spots filled his vision and he might have collapsed onto the floor if strong hands hadn't caught him as he fell.<p>

"Easy there, my lad." Athos helped him sit back up and leant him against the table so he wouldn't fall again. His eyes flickered down to d'Artagnan's side and he frowned. "I am sorry." He said sincerely as his hand automatically went out to touch it. D'Artagnan caught him gently by the wrist.

"Athos, it's fine, really." He assured him, even though the room was swaying and he breathed too deeply and everything hurt, and his grip on Athos' arm was now like a vice.

"Evidently." Athos quipped dryly. "Come on," He instructed, "I'll take you up to your rooms and Aramis can have a proper look to assess the damage."

"It's fine," d'Artagnan insisted, making to stand up, but collapsing onto Athos.

"You are decidedly not fine, young man." Athos admonished, slinging the boy's arm over his shoulder. Treville, who had been watching them stood in concern, but Athos shook his head. "We've got him, sir, don't worry about it." He assured him, and at the captain's nod continued carrying his friend towards the door.

Once he'd sat him on the bed, he went to call for Aramis, who helped to strip d'Artagnan of his shirt and peel back the bandages, despite the Gascon's protests that it really wasn't necessary. The gasps that seeing the wound earned from all three of the others - Porthos having followed Aramis - were the reason he wasn't going to let them see in the first place. He would be _fine_. He really didn't need Athos to know just how close he'd come to killing him.

"d'Artagnan-" Aramis' voice was deceptively calm. He could see that it had been tended to well, but- "you very well could have died. Why didn't you say anything?" he demanded. D'Artagnan had the grace to look sheepish, but when he looked from Aramis to Athos and back again, his reasoning became painfully obvious.

"You didn't want me to know?"

"You had more important things to worry about" d'Artagnan insisted, his gaze hard and piercing - neither he or Athos was willing to look away first. "If you _had_ known, would you have been able to see the mission through without being distracted?" Athos was about to protest that of course he would, and how dare he keep it from him when he saw the twin meaningful glances he received from Aramis and Porthos.

"And if that distraction had cost your life, any of your lives" d'Artagnan pressed on, "do you think I would ever have been able to forgive myself?" the words were a mere whisper, but they rang loudly in the silence which followed. Looking into the Gascon's eyes, Athos saw the ghost of something very familiar, and he couldn't stay angry with the boy after that - not when who he was truly furious at himself.

"Athos stop it. Haven't you blamed yourself for enough things that weren't your fault already?" d'Artagnan soothed, and then yelped as Aramis poked about at his wound, before glaring at their medic.

"This is different." Athos insisted. "_I_ did this to you." If d'Artagnan didn't know better, he might have thought Athos sounded as if he were about to start crying.

"Don't be such a fool, Athos - if it is anyone's fault it is my own. It was _my_ plan for you to shoot me - you all argued against it until the captain agreed that it was the only plan that could work." None of them looked reassured, and d'Artagnan had to bite his lip to stop the hiss of pain as Aramis applied ointment and redid his bandages. His acting physician raised an eyebrow at him, but the Gascon just glared back at him, and looked at them all in turn. "None of you are allowed to blame yourselves for this. Not if I'm not allowed to feel guilty for being seduced by your wife."

Athos opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again. He remembered d'Artagnan's face when he had admitted that there was a woman who had left him forget-me-nots. Who was also a murderess. The threat he was making was to be as miserable as Athos if this wasn't put behind them right this second.

"You don't play fair." He grumbled. "You used to be such a little gentleman" d'Artagnan grinned, happy that this was not going to be a problem any longer.

"Well, to be fair, I'm a musketeer now, aren't I? And before honour, there's not getting killed to worry about - right?" He grinned and caught Porthos' eye. They all laughed at that. Though Athos' eyes still flickered to the boy's side occasionally, he did not let himself dwell on it. They had all known what they were doing - they had all chosen to take great risks in the line of duty - why should d'Artagnan be any different? Athos _knew_ why - and he refused to even think about hurting his little brother again. But he also knew that said brother would refuse to give him a moment's peace to brood, so he might as well try to be happy. They were all alive, and yes, they had honour, but they also had each other.


	28. What Have I Done?

A/N: SORRY BUT THIS IDEA ATTACKED ME WITH THE FORCE OF A BUS OKAY? I AM WORKING ON THE OTHERS RIGHT NOW. I KNOW YOU'RE WAITING FOR THEM

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><p>Athos made an aborted move towards his fallen friend, his hand automatically going up to reach for him before stopping himself. He couldn't ruin the plan. D'Artagnan would be fine.<p>

Fine - despite the fact he'd been shot in the side. Shot by Athos. He blanched as Aramis shook his head and lifted a hand covered in blood, and Porthos tried desperately to wake d'Artagnan, going as far as to slap him on the cheek whilst Treville cradled the boy in his arms. Oh god. Oh god. He'd killed d'Artagnan. He'd killed him. He was just as bad as her.

"_What have you done?"_ she cried, and the words cut so deep, because they echo his own, as he had held his dying brother in his arms. The very same way that the others were cradling d'Artagnan. He hadn't meant to shoot him there. He hadn't. It was an accident - he'd meant to aim for the arm. But he was too bloody drunk. "_You've killed him. You've killed one of your precious Musketeer brothers!" _the grief in her voice was so real that it hurts, and Athos realised that she genuinely felt something for the Gascon, and that unsettled something in his chest.

"He is no brother of mine." He felt sickened at his own words. "He chose to help a murderess. He chose his own fate."

"_As I chose mine?"_ She asked venomously. The tone did not make sense. Of course she chose her own fate - she could have not murdered Thomas, but she did. Because he knew what she was - a criminal.

"You murdered my brother." She glared at him, and picked up her dagger which he had carelessly thrown.

"As if you have any right to judge me - _look at what you did - he called you brother - he called you friend. Murderer."_ It was an accusation he had heard from her so many times in his dreams, but to hear it in reality, when it was _true_.

"He's not dead - not yet." Aramis muttered under his breath. "If we get him back to the garrison now, I can-"

"No." Milady protested, no room for argument in her tone. "I think you _Musketeers_ have done enough. He will come with me."

For the sake of the plan, Athos agreed through gritted teeth.

"Do what you will. He is nothing to me. He made his choice."

"So you say" she disagreed again, lifting d'Artagnan into a carriage which she had waiting. She was surprisingly strong. No wonder Thomas hadn't stood a chance. "I'll be sure to tell him just how much he means to you."

He managed to wait until the carriage disappeared out of sight before he collapsed onto his knees.

"I've killed him. Mon Dieu. I've killed him."

"ATHOS!" Aramis yelled, slapping him across the cheek. "Get a hold of yourself. He's not dead. He'll be fine. We'll go through with the plan, and everything will work out - you'll see."

"I shot him."

"It was his plan" Porthos muttered under his breath, dragging Athos back to his feet and towards the garrison.

Once they were all in Treville's office, under the guise of the captain demanding an explanation for his soldier's actions, Athos again dropped to his knees and sobbed.

"What have I done? Dear God - _what have I done?"_ There was nothing they could say or do to comfort him, but they shared his pain.


	29. Rescue II

A/N: Finally, right? I loved writing this chapter because of reasons. There could very well be a third part of this to look out for, but don't hold your breath for it.

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><p>Athos was drowning himself in drink and solitude when Porthos found him. To say that the taller man was angry with Athos was an understatement. Sure, d'Artagnan probably shouldn't have said what he did, but he had a terrible fever at the moment, and was at least slightly delirious, and in very real danger of dying.<p>

And here Athos was, moping whilst downing bottles of cheap wine whilst d'Artagnan was struggling to breathe, with only Aramis and Roger for company.

"Athos" He growled, and the other man looked up at him, glaring at him with dead eyes that seemed to have lost all spark of emotion. Usually, such a look would make Porthos back off - but not this time, not when the life of one of their own hung in the balance.

"What do you want, Porthos?" Athos asked in a tired voice, and Porthos doesn't quite have it in him to restrain himself from grabbing his friend by the collar and slamming him against the wall of the inn.

"You listen to me good, Athos. Whilst you sit here feeling sorry for yourself, Aramis is trying desperately to get d'Artagnan's fever back down, because it's spiked again, and to be quite honest with you, he didn't sound too hopeful." The blank look is replaced by one of abject horror. Good, Athos needed to see how his actions were selfish and wrong. "And if there's anything that a scared, ill kid needs, it's to know that his big brother loves him - isn't that right?" The pain in Athos' eyes was so raw then that Porthos' anger abated just a little. The next time he spoke his voice was quiet. "So you sober up right now, and you get your sorry rear out there and you hold his hand - fuck, sing him lullabies if that's what he needs. But don't you dare abandon him - not now."

Athos gulped slowly, and reached out a shaking hand to grab Porthos by the shoulder.

"Aramis said he was getting _better_." He protested. "he was getting _better"_ He sounded so desperate, like that thought was all that he had to hold onto. Good Lord, Porthos thought. If d'Artagnan did die - would Athos be able to handle it? Or would they lose him too?

"That was before your little blow up at him. In his state - how do you think that made him feel?" The taller man asked him, forcing Athos to meet his eyes.

"Then... it's my fault. It's always my fault." He muttered under his breath, but let Porthos lead him back up to the room where d'Artagnan was resting, though he felt numb, as if he'd been punched in the gut. This couldn't be happening.

"'Mis - I brought him" Porthos announced quietly. Aramis looked up from where he was holding d'Artagnan down - the boy was thrashing and muttering, and his eyes were bright with fever.

"'Bout bloody time. Athos' name is the only coherent thing he's said for the past twenty minutes." Guilt stabbed in Athos' gut anew at those words, especially when he sees the blame in Aramis' eyes. But the medical Musketeer surrendered his seat next to the boy to allow Athos next to him.

"Ath's?" came the weak voice from the boy on the bed - he sounded so lost and afraid that Athos had to swallow back tears as he raised a hand to cup d'Artagnan's cheek.

"I'm here, Charles. I'm sorry." He apologised, leaning forward and pressing a tearful kiss to the boy's forehead.

"Y'r not...mad?" It broke his heart to see the boy so wary of him, so unsure.

"Of course not. I could never stay mad at you, little brother." He whispered, his voice choked with emotion as d'Artagnan smiled.

"Tell me about Thomas." He pleaded - and he could never say no to that face. Not now when d'Artagnan was teetering on the edge of life and death - he could already hear Aramis muttering prayers behind them.

"What would you like to know?" He asked gently.

"What you... did together. Brother things."

"Very specific of you" He quipped drily, noticing that d'Artagnan was more relaxed now that he was acting like himself. "Well... he loved to go to town and pretend to be one of the locals. Was rather good at it too. Until someone insulted... oh, his hat or something like that." He smiled fondly at the memory. "He was quite drunk at the time, but he was a merry drunk - like someone else we know." He looked pointedly at the boy on the bed. "Well, until you started imitating me. I'm a terrible influence, I'll have you know." D'Artagnan seemed to have settled, calmer now just for hearing Athos' voice, so the man continued on with his story, "but yes, he was insulted, and he couldn't let them get away with that. And the idiot decided that he had no choice but to challenge them to a duel." At this he met d'Artagnan's eyes and raised an eyebrow. "Sound familiar?"

"'did tha' wh' horse insulted...yellow." He shook his head as he tried to decipher the boy's story, but that didn't matter.

"I'm sure you'll tell me the full story once you're healed enough to string a sentence together." He assured him. "But unfortunately, the men that Thomas had challenged were no gentlemen, and fought dirty. And unlike you, Thomas didn't have a Porthos there to teach him how." Sighing and shaking his head fondly at the memory, he continued, "what he did have, however, was a long-suffering older brother to get him out of whatever mess he found himself in. So I was looking for him in the village, and imagine my surprise when I found him bloodied and bruised because he'd done something stupid - for the umpteenth time."

Porthos and Aramis shared a meaningful look with each other - Thomas was sounding more and more like d'Artagnan with everything Athos was telling them.

"What did you do?" d'Artagnan asked, struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Ah, but that will have to wait till morning" Athos told him. "You still need to rest. And I think first, you'll have to tell me about your Robert - he sounds quite the hero." D'Artagnan snorted.

"He was an overprotective git." D'Artagnan grumbled, but the tone was fond. "Rather like someone else I know. Sorry for... I didn't mean to say it. I know I promised" He sounded so torn up about it, and Athos shook his head furiously.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Charles." Athos assured him, but d'Artagnan just groaned.

"Could you please stop that. D'Artagnan is fine. Only my mother ever called me Charles." Athos chuckled, but d'Artagnan responded with a glare. "Do you want me to start calling you Olivier, because I will, don't you fret, Monsieur le Comte." He threatened, and despite himself, Athos laughed.

"Alright. But get some rest, d'Artagnan, and let Aramis feed you some broth. You'll need your strength." He eyed the bandages which covered most of the boy's torso, and felt guilty. "We should never have let you go in alone." He kept his eyes downcast, unable to look at him any longer.

"What did I say about being an overprotective git?" d'Artagnan told him in as strong a tone as he could muster. "There were no clues that it would be an ambush, and we had no reason to doubt our source. What happened was unfortunate but if you blame yourself I am hitting you over the head with one of those bottles that you are so fond of." That said, the Gascon fell back onto the bed and fell asleep.

Athos sat back with a deep sigh of utter relief. D'Artagnan had calmed down, d'Artagnan would be alright. He was never leaving d'Artagnan alone again. He would refuse adamantly every time Treville suggested a solo mission, because d'Artagnan never seemed to come out of those unscathed, even before he was a Musketeer. But for now, his brother was safe and resting - and tomorrow they could share the stories of their pasts. He'd been promised a story about Robert after all, it was only fair for d'Artagnan to wake up and share it.


	30. We'll All Still Be Here in the Morning

A/N: This was for a prompt of Bed Sharing on the kinkmeme

No pairings, just snuggles

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><p>It took all of them a long while to sleep that night, after everything that happened. Aramis because when he shut his eyes, he couldn't help but see the blood on his hands as he desperately tried to keep it inside their youngest - the despair he felt at the thought that they might lose him was as great as anything he'd felt about Savoy. Even knowing now that he was alive and safe and it was all over with, he couldn't help but flash back to how still he was in the captain's arms and think that, if they ever did lose him - they would never be the same again. There was also the fact that Queen Anne was pregnant, and the child was his... if such a thing ever came to light- there was no way that Porthos or d'Artagnan could ever know-<p>

_They'll hang you, and then they'll hang me for letting it happen_

Athos' words reverberate through his brain. He cannot condemn the innocent of their brothers to the same fate, should the truth come out. Eventually, after saying his prayers under his breath, imploring the Heavenly Father for forgiveness, he drifted off into dreamless sleep.

Athos took longer even still to find rest. He cannot help but think of his wife, and what she must be doing now - is she on a boat, is she in England, Spain, where? He hoped to know only so that he may never risk seeing her again, because damn her, he still loves her. Despite what's she had done to him, what she did to Thomas - the way she manipulated d'Artagnan - she was still his wife. And he her husband. He still thought of her kisses, her caresses- how very _good_ they would have been together, if only-

_There can be no peace for either of us, until we are both dead_

There may have been some truth in that. But every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was that moment when d'Artagnan staggered backwards, hands holding his side, staring up at him with something like betrayal in his eyes, and knowing this wasn't part of the plan. Knowing that he could very well have killed his brother. The pain and fear on d'Artagnan's face had been so very heartbreaking. The boy had never been shot before - it was obvious he'd gone into shock. He'd lost consciousness. Athos had been sure he was going to die, until Aramis had suggested taking him back to the garrison - _it had been _that_ bad?_ Bad enough for them to consider abandoning the plan completely? But then Milady had stepped in and insisted that d'Artagnan not be treated by _friends_ who would kill him for saving a woman's life. He'd all but collapsed after he'd watched her drag him away. Still not moving, still not waking. Had he even been breathing?

Now, though, he watched d'Artagnan from across the room - safe, home, alive. True, he'd had his heart broken all over again when Madame Bonacieux had chosen to stay with her husband, but at least he knew the truth now - that would always be better than the lies. They had all been tangled in a web of so many lies. The truth had come out now - well, the truth about his wife and the Cardinal, at any rate. The other truth, he and Aramis would keep to themselves. If it did eventually blow up in their faces, there was no reason that d'Artagnan and Porthos should have to hang - those two, out of all of them, had the most reason to live. Porthos would have his Alice, and with none of the others to hold back his temper, d'Artagnan would take Constance back, consequences be damned. Such a consuming and fiery love was something he could not help but envy. His own love had been so cold, only ever with the illusion of warmth. Pulling his blankets closer to him, he rolled over and closed his eyes, forcing the images in his mind to submit to the darkness of sleep.

It seemed that Porthos alone slept soundly. Now that all that mess was over and done with, he just felt happy and secure in the fact that they lived another day, and were all safe and close to each other - being able to listen to d'Artagnan breathing was a great comfort - they'd never let the boy know just how much his injury had terrified them, as they'd held him and tried to beg him to stay with them, to stay awake. But that was all past now - Aramis had checked the wound and found that Milady had been a surprisingly competent nursemaid to their youngest. Athos had gone pale as clean sheets upon seeing the wound, and d'Artagnan had waved all their worries away.

D'Artagnan, who was now awake with worries and fears of his own. Despite his assurances to the others, his side ached and throbbed and every time he moved the pain flared up and all he could feel was the moment that the bullet tore through him, and the shocked and guilty face of the man who stood before him with the gun in his hand. He remembered thinking - _I'm going to die_ and _this will kill Athos_. He remembered Athos' shout of "You fool!" and the underlying - _I'm so sorry, please forgive me_ which lay underneath it. He remembered Milady helping him, being _kind_ to him, and hating himself for appreciating that.

"_You would hardly be the first she has deceived"_ Athos had assured him when he had told them that he recognised the woman, and the flowers as well. He'd been prepared for Athos to hate him - instead the older man had begged _him_ for forgiveness. A part of him had wanted that hate, because he felt like he deserved it, for being such an utter fool. That might have contributed to the plan that he'd made to deceive Milady. Just a little.

Even knowing what she was, it was hard to do this to her. Why was that? She'd taken Constance captive and tried to kill her - how could he feel any sympathy for her after she'd done that? And Constance... she refused to leave her husband, even though she knew he would make her life miserable. But she did love him, so he held onto that as if his very life depended on it.

He didn't know what to feel anymore. Only that he felt so very alone, despite being surrounded by his brothers. He needed more reassurance than the sound of their breathing to know that they were really there. Looking over at Athos, he could see that the man had finally gone to sleep, and he didn't really want to disturb him. Besides, if he dreamt of... that night, then he didn't want Athos to feel any more guilty than he already did.

Aramis didn't react well to being woken, he knew that from experience, even if he would perhaps be the one most understanding of his heartbreak and his need for human warmth.

So that left Porthos, who was also sleeping, but d'Artagnan was sure he could wake him without any adverse affects. He shook him gently and the man blinked up at him before frowning, looking at the boy sitting on the side of the bed.

"What is it? Is it your side - did you rip your stitches? Want me to wake Aramis so he can take another look?" He asked, full of concern, and d'Artagnan couldn't help but think of when he'd been held by him and Aramis and the captain, their presence soothing even through the haze of pain and the pull of the darkness. He shook his head.

"No it's not - I mean, it still hurts but that's- nothing's ripped, I'm _fine... _it's just - this probably sounds stupid but could you just budge over a little?" He muttered, and Porthos smiled fondly before shifting over and patting the bed with his hand.

"Too cold?" d'Artagnan smiled at the fact that Porthos was giving him a decent excuse for wanting to share the bed, but there had been enough lies and omission of facts between them all already.

"No, I... I know it's stupid when you're all right here but- every time I close my eyes it's... and I just-" he felt his face going red as he mumbled, feeling embarrassed at himself for being frightened of _Athos_ of all things, even if it was just an Athos which his dreams had conjured to torment him. He wanted to forget that whole night, if he was being honest with himself, but it was etched into him forever, both in his mind and in his skin. It was going to leave quite the scar, Aramis had said.

"Didn't want to be alone?" Porthos asked gently. He nodded, keeping his eyes downcast, feeling surprised when Porthos all but pulled him into the bed beside him, wrapping his arms around the boy.

These arms were strong and safe - they would protect him from the world. He felt himself start to sob, his body shaking, and Porthos' hold reassuring, but not trapping. He could get away from this any time he liked, but he didn't want to. He surrendered to the safety of those arms.

"Want me to wake the others too? Or do I get you all to myself?" He joked, but d'Artagnan just shook his head against Porthos' chest. His heart broke for the kid - he'd been through a hell of a lot lately, and held himself together for so long. It was no wonder he needed to break down after everything.

"There now, kid. 's alright. I get it." He soothed and shushed the Gascon until he finally felt the boy relax against him, having exhausted himself completely. Couldn't be easy, being shot by someone you looked up to as much as d'Artagnan did Athos, plan or no plan. Besides which - hadn't he and Flea and Charon slept like this, pressed close together, even when it wasn't cold, just so that each knew the others were still there? And if that was what d'Artagnan needed, then that was what he would give him, warmth and the reassurance that they were all still there for each other, and that nothing could break the bonds of brotherhood that they shared.

"We'll all still be here in the morning" He promised, murmuring the words to the top of the boy's head, "And every morning after." At least until they all got themselves killed in whatever harebrained scheme lay over the horizon.

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><p><em>As always, your reviews shine so brightly in my eyes that they leave everything else in the shade.<em>


	31. Wrought in Blood and Flame II

A/N: So I finally got this one finished :D so no more pending two-parters for me. (well actually i am planning to do a follow up to the cuddling porthos and d'art fic where Athos panics in the morning because he can't see d'art but then Aramis laughs at him and points over at Porthos' bed. but don't hold me to it)

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><p>Athos kept a tense vigil over the Gascon's bed that night. He'd woken briefly and asked where he was, but seemed to have remembered what happened to him well enough, which was a good sign. Athos had spent the past ten minutes washing the blood off of his hands - he shook and trembled. Anne was alive - and she knew d'Artagnan - she'd stabbed him, and left them both to die. Athos had no idea what to make of that. Once d'Artagnan was awake and coherent - which he <em>would<em> be, the doctor's reservations be damned - there would be a need of explanations from both of them. But for now, Athos was thankful every time he saw the rise and fall of the Gascon's chest, and for the fact that he hadn't yet bled through his bandages. All of this was promising.

But looking at that pale and drawn face - contorted in pain... he never wanted to see him look that way again. He brushed a cool cloth against his brow, and listened to the fevered mutterings.

"can't...trust...first met...murdered...set me up." His brow shot up as the boy kept mumbling - what on earth was he talking about? Running a hand through dirtied hair, he got up and paced for a little longer. He'd never been the patient sort when his comrades were injured, and added to that was the fact that this was d'Artagnan. The youngest of them, and the most innocent. And... and the one that he had just realised held his heart.

When d'Artagnan started to thrash, Athos put a firm hand on his shoulder and tried to hush him.

"You're alright, lad. You're safe. Calm, calm down" He soothed. The Gascon groaned and his eyes fluttered open, frowning at the worried face hovering over him.

"A...thos..wh?" Athos kept his hand pressed to the boy's shoulder, telling himself it was only because the boy needed to keep still and not aggravate his injury rather than his own desire to be touching him.

"That woman stabbed you, and you are in an inn in the village, you need to lie still, or you'll rip my stitches - I'm no Aramis, but it's my best work yet" He allowed himself a small smile as d'Artagnan rolled his eyes and tried again to sit up. "Stop it. What did I just tell you?"

"W..water?" d'Artagnan asked, and Athos winced at his raspy tone, but nodded and stood to pour him a glass and carefully sat him up, supporting him and holding the glass to his mouth, and trying to look away from the way that the boy's Adam's apple moved as he swallowed - this was not the time to be thinking _those_ kinds of thoughts. He carefully arranged the bedding so that d'Artagnan could sit in relative comfort.

They each regarded each other silently for a few moments before speaking. D'Artagnan was the one to break the silence by clearing his throat.

"Athos... I don't know who that woman is to you, but I've met her before-"

"That much was obvious." Athos quipped drily, and d'Artagnan resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Well, before I met any of you, I stopped at this god-awful inn, cockroaches and everything-" Athos snorted fondly.

"Honestly, lad, you're so much of a snob that one would think you were the son of nobility, not me." He teased, but his face was serious.

"She was there, with some Spanish nobleman, I think. She killed him, but I didn't know that until the morning-" Athos spluttered his own drink of water at that, at the implications of what d'Artagnan had said.

"I... she told me the man she loved tried to kill her." There was more to it than that, Athos could see, but the boy did not seem willing to share. "I woke up with a bloody dagger on the pillow, and because I am an idiot, I picked it up, and there was the man with his throat slit in the bath. And me, holding a bloody dagger. So I jumped out of a window and then I ran into Constance."

"You mean when you kissed Madame Bonacieux so that you could hide from your pursuers?" Athos asked with an amused twitch of the lips. "I was told all about it by the lady herself." D'Artagnan blushed at that. "Though she did say that it was hardly the worst kiss she had ever had - also that I was never to tell you on pain of death."

"Athos," d'Artagnan said seriously, "you're stalling - who exactly is the woman who nearly killed me?"

"She is a murderess, and a liar, and she tricked her way into my life. She was also my wife." D'Artagnan turned white as a sheet at that admission, but Athos waved his apologies away.

"You were not at fault - the blame lies with her alone... and on me for not making sure that she was hanged for her crimes. I should have stayed and watched, no matter how much it pained me, if it would save you this pain." He hung his head in shame and did not lift his eyes until d'Artagnan weakly reached out a hand to grab his own.

"Athos," d'Artagnan consoled, "I can only imagine how such a thing must have torn at your heart. You loved her, I can see that."

"It is her doing that Thomas is dead." Athos whispered, and d'Artagnan said nothing, his only move to squeeze Athos' hand all the tighter. Oh, what sweet torture that was. "And... because of her, I nearly lost you as well, you damned fool - what were you thinking?"

"That you were alone in a burning building and I had to rescue you?" He replied, a self-righteous pout playing on his lips. And such beautiful lips they were. _Enough of that_, Athos berated himself, _you are unworthy of him. You will only bring him more pain._ Even as he was thinking it, d'Artagnan brought him back to reality, "Athos? Look, I know this is all... insane. You just found out your dead wife who killed your brother isn't actually dead, and then she stabbed me, and if I know you at all, you are blaming yourself for it - and _none of it is your fault._ Alright? I will be fine, and that's thanks to y-" he hadn't realised he'd been sitting himself up properly to help enunciate his point until there was a sharp twinge to remind him why he shouldn't do that, leaving him gasping in pain and holding onto Athos' hand with a vice-like grip.

The older man helped him to settle back down onto the bed with soothing noises, which only served to make d'Artagnan glare up at him.

"I'm not a child, you know" He protested, and Athos just shook his head fondly. D'Artagnan shifted in the bed and winced again. "What time is it?"

"Not yet day. If you feel up to it, we will ride out at dawn to catch up with the others." He leaned forward to grab something on the floor beside the bed. "The physician recommended some poppy milk for the pain if it got too much" his eyes flickered to where one of d'Artagnan's arms had unconsciously moved to clutch at his side. The Gascon stubbornly shook his head.

"Don't make me force this down your throat, d'Artagnan, I know it's hurting more that you're letting on." Athos warned, and d'Artagnan just huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his head away. Athos couldn't help but think how sweet it was that it was so easy to tell what the boy was thinking just by looking at his face. With him there would be no deception, only honesty. Honesty and compassion and understanding-

Why could he not simply banish such thoughts?

"Athos? Are you alright?" d'Artagnan asked quietly. "I promise, I'm alright, but I'll take the damned medicine if you're so worried about it." He promised, and Athos graced him with a rare smile that took his breath away.

"I'm fine d'Artagnan... to be honest, it frightened me... the thought that you might-" His breath caught in his throat when he thought of d'Artagnan pale and bloody, barely holding on to life outside the burning ashes of his manor. "Dieu, d'Artagnan - I... we could have lost you. You could have died and it would have been my fault and I cannot bear the thought that someone else that I love is dead because of-" He cut himself off, mortified by what he had admitted.

The silence stretched on for a long moment, before d'Artagnan carefully sat himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed so that he was sitting facing Athos properly. The older man refused to meet his eyes, but d'Artagnan could see that his face had gone a rather fetching shade of beetroot.

"You love me?" He asked in barely a whisper. Athos swallowed, and hardly trusting his own voice, whispered.

"I do, God help me, but I do." Then d'Artagnan did the last thing that Athos could have possibly expected - he took his hands and cupped Athos' face, and, making Athos look him in the eye, he leant forward and pressed their lips together.

It was not quite a desperate kiss, but the _need_ for it was there, in the heat and the firmness of it, and Athos found himself moaning into the boy's mouth as his own lips parted to let d'Artagnan work his tongue into his mouth. Whilst he had no doubt that the boy lacked experience, d'Artagnan more than made up for it in enthusiasm, and without thinking, Athos held onto his waist for something to hold on to.

Which had the unfortunate effect of d'Artagnan yelping in surprise and pain against his mouth before pulling away. They were both more than a little breathless.

"Sorry," Athos apologized, but d'Artagnan shook his head, even as he leant towards Athos, resting his head against his shoulder.

"'sokay. But perhaps... not a good idea right this minute." Athos nodded his agreement, before pausing in thought.

"What is it?" d'Artagnan asked, worried about his new... what, lover? Was that the right word for what they were? Somehow it felt more than that.

"Are you sure this is what you want, d'Artagnan?" he asked in a whisper, and d'Artagnan gazed up at him, eyes darkened with love and desire. "Are you sure that you want this with _me?_"

For a long time, d'Artagnan did not answer, but then he pulled his head away from Athos' shoulder for a moment to stare at him intently. Eventually, he leant forward again, and whispered in Athos' ear;

"If not you, then no one." Athos' breath caught once more at such a frank and honest answer. He did not know what to do or what to say, but thankfully, d'Artagnan saved him from having to by once again kissing him soundly.

The boy tired quickly though, due to his injuries, so Athos made him lie back on the bed and drink some of the poppy milk, keeping watch as he fell back into sleep, but this time with the certainty that he would wake again, that he would be safe, and they would be together, their bond forged in the flames of the ruinous past, and cemented with the blood and tears which were shed in its making. As d'Artagnan drifted in slumber, Athos pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and thanked God that he still had this precious gift, and begged Him not to let Anne ever attempt to cause harm to him again, and if she did, to grant him the power to protect what he held dear.

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><p><em>I admire and respect my reviewers<em>


	32. Rehearsals

_A/N: Been a while, hasn't it? Apologies for that. Not really had much motivation lately, but hopefully I can change that now. Hope you like this one. It was certainly fun to write, so I hope it will be to read as well._

"Oh, curse this sudden and inevitable betrayal!" D'Artagnan cried as he clutched his arm and fell to his knees in mock agony. Porthos bit his lip whilst Aramis snorted and doubled over in laughter. Only Athos remained unmoved, his gaze stony, and motioned for them to begin the scene again.

"I was under the impression that it was you who came up with this plan, young Gascon. As such, perhaps you could take the preparation for aforementioned plan a little more seriously. I for one, would rather you didn't move the wrong way and end up being shot in the ribs instead. It would only be your own fault such a thing should occur." D'Artagnan looked down guiltily, flushing with embarrassment. Athos seemed to sense his discomfort and paused in his admonishments to offer him his hand.

"What is it, d'Artagnan?" The Gascon didn't offer an answer. He kept his gaze on the floor, away from Athos. He didn't quite know what the matter was, and he didn't need to burden Athos with his worries and insecurities, seeing as the man had enough of his own already. He did not want to take this practice seriously, because then he would have to get his head around the fact that Athos was going to have to shoot him for real in a few months. And it was going to hurt, more than just physically.

"It's fine. I'm fine. Really, I promise. I'll concentrate more this time" Athos frowned at him in a way that said _I know there's something you're not telling me but I won't push it any further just now_. He just dragged d'Artagnan up so their eyes met. D'Artagnan looked away first. He'd always felt a little intimidated by Athos' stare, and he looked over to the others, when an idea to distract Athos from his questions came to mind.

"Hey, Aramis! Want to play the part of the evil wife for tonight? Might help us get in character." The offended splutter that gained was well worth the slap to the back of the head he earned from the other Musketeer.  
>"The things I do for you."He complained airily as he got into position. "It's only because you're adorable. I have to take pity on you." Clearing his throat, he exclaimed "Oh! D'Artagnan! This drunkard has completely lost his wits! He means to murder me!" He flailed his arms around as if he were a dying fish, before dropping in a dramatic faint into d'Artagnan's arms. "Offer me deliverance from this foul creature, I beg of you, oh noble and courageous soul!" By now, Porthos was laughing so hard that there were tears in his eyes, and Athos took a breath which became a long, exasperated sigh.<br>"It's just as well we have three months to prepare for this." D'Artagnan nodded and looked down, his arms still full of Aramis. He raised an eyebrow.

"You do realise you were meant to play a murdering seductress, not damsel in distress?" He complained, but Aramis grinned.

" Au contraire, petit gascon, I was playing the seductress playing the damsel in distress. How else am I to win the trust of my dashing young hero?" d'Artagnan stared at him as he stood and wandered back to Porthos.  
>"Did someone let him borrow Treville's romance novels again?" All three of the older Musketeers turned to stare at him in shock.<br>"It's not some big secret, is it? He lent me one a few weeks ago."  
>The grin on Porthos's face was wide, and Aramis's smile bright. Athos' cheeks turned pink.<br>"Well, that just makes it official that you're one of us" Porthos decided. "There aren't many he trusts with his books."

And if d'Artagnan puffed up a little proudly, and managed to get through the next couple of run-throughs without worrying so much, well, they weren't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. And if Aramis had decidedly had enough of Porthos laughing at his ability to play the swooning maiden, and challenged him to _do better then, if he was going to be a critic_, nobody was going to bat an eyelash at that, seeing as there was no way he was ever going to back down from a challenge.

When he tried to faint though, he ended up pulling d'Artagnan to the ground with him.

Athos despaired of them all. (Fondly, of course).

_As always, I admire, respect (and yes, love) those who review, follow or favourite (and maybe I like you even more if you do all three :p)_ _Seriously though, you guys are all amazing._


	33. Proud Parents

**A/N: This was originally two separate drabbles that were written for an rp partner of mine on tumblr, but they fit together, so I posted them together. Set in the future, and Constance and d'Artagnan are married (positive, wishful thinking on my part).** **So it was written a while ago but I haven't posted it on here yet, so I thought I would remedy that. I've been going through my documents ( which were a bit of a mess) and sorting them, so I've found which fics I've started and not bothered finishing and if I have, not bothered posting. So you might see a few more over the next week or so.  
><strong>

When she'd told him the news, she hadn't quite expected him to faint. As it was, she had to haul him over to their bed and sit and wait for him to wake again -

"Honestly," she muttered to herself and she watched his sleeping face. But despite his shock, she was confident he would be happy, once he had allowed the idea of fatherhood to sink in. A hand subconsciously went to her stomach - a baby. They were having a baby.

D'Artagnan groaned as he came to, and then blushed when he saw his wife's face smiling down at him and remembered his reaction.

"I can't believe I fainted - but I just, I mean, are you sure?" He asked, not sure whether to focus on her face or on her stomach. They were going to have a baby. At her nod, he leaned forward and kissed her, with his hands cupping her face, tears of joy wetting his cheeks. "Have I told you recently that you are the light of my life and the best thing to ever happen to me?" Tearful herself, she batted his hands away with her own and slapped him upside the back of the head.

"What have I told you about embarrassing me, you idiot?" she complained, but she could not stop smiling. D'Artagnan stood, suddenly full of purpose.

"I have to- I mean, am I allowed to tell the others, yet, or do you want to wait?" Constance had to admit, she was impressed that he managed to reign in his giddiness and excitement enough to ask her permission before sharing their happy news with the world. She shook her head fondly before smiling.

"Of course you can tell them- they're friends to the both of us, after all."

"No," d'Artagnan corrected, grinning like an idiot, "they're family, to all three of us" he pulled her close to him and placed his hands around her waist, and he couldn't have been more full of joy if he tried.

"Besides," he added, "I'm sure we will both be grateful for Uncle Aramis and his lullabies at some point or another."

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><p>"D'Artagnan?" Athos asked, concern evident on his face, "Are you alright? You've been distracted since we left." His tone was scolding, but d'Artagnan knew it was only because he cared.<p>

"Oh, I'm fine. More than fine. I'm just so very happy." Aramis raised an eyebrow at that and shared a look with Porthos, before they both shrugged. Athos still looked at him curiously, though.

"My lovely wife shared some very happy news with me today." They all waited, wondering what on earth this news could be, if it could distract even d'Artagnan from his duty. "How do you all feel about becoming uncles?" At their blank looks, he grinned, continuing, "since, after all, I consider you all to be my brothers, and any children I might have-" It was Aramis who squealed with delight as he threw his arms around his young friend, grinning from ear to ear.

"Congratulations, lad." D'Artagnan could hear his friend's voice shaking with tears and wondered if perhaps it was a bad idea to tell them after all. "You'll be a wonderful father." At this, the other two caught on, and Athos' eyebrows were raised so high d'Artagnan wondered how they stayed attached to his head. Porthos was quick to give him a supportive slap on the back.

"Always knew you had it in you, lad."

"_Porthos!_" he whined, scandalized, but he loves that they are so happy for him - they are his brothers, after all, like he had said before. He looked to Athos, who still had not said a word, and he wondered briefly if the older man had ever thought of having children of his own, back when he and Anne were happy and he had no idea who she was. Eventually he spoke up, evaporating the tension which was in the air, for he was smiling.

"It's not every day a man finds out he's going to become a father- I do hope you're ready for the responsibility" His tone is as close to teasing as Athos was ever likely going to get, and d'Artagnan grinned.

"I already have to keep you three in line - compared to that, anything is simple" And it's worth the slap up the back of the head from Porthos and the indignant snort from Aramis, just to see Athos smile widely and mean it.

"We will be honoured to be by your side, every step of the way" He promised, and d'Artagnan's heart soared as joyous tears welled up in his eyes. They were already brothers, but soon, soon, they would really be a family.

_My dear reviewers, your words keep me going and I love you all and your sweet and adorable comments (next review will be the 100th on this collection of one-shots. Thank you so much for all your support!)_


	34. Haunted

**A/N: So those last two chapters were pretty fluffy, right? Not this one. Pretty sure that this was also written for an rp, so there we go.**

_Warning: off-screen character death. And ghosts._

The first time Athos saw him, he thought he's finally gone mad. If he thought the grief and the guilt of losing Thomas had been bad, that was nothing, _nothing_ compared to losing d'Artagnan. He remembers the numb shock as he knelt down, checking desperately for a pulse - finding a weak one, and d'Artagnan looking up at him with a smile, as if to say _it's alright, I forgive you_, and then his head lolling backwards, and he'd held the body close and sobbed for what felt like eternity. But he didn't know if he could ever forgive himself - he saw what the boy's death had done to Constance. Oh god. Poor Constance. But that wasn't the issue at present - the issue was that d'Artagnan was looking down at him disapprovingly - and he was transparent. As in, Athos could see right through him.

"Leave me alone" he muttered, his voice raw and hoarse from tears and copious amounts of alcohol. The spectre's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Oh, so now you can see me - when you're blind drunk and hiding from your responsibilities." He scolded. "And here I thought you'd quit, and were being a fine upstanding Musketeer."

"That was before I lost a brother who I should have protected better - again."

"Really, Athos? You're going to play that card with me? How about the other people here - Porthos, Aramis- how do you think they're all going to feel if you drink yourself to death?" He sounded so reasonable, just like he always had when he'd pleaded with Athos to curb his drinking. "And god damn you, help Constance - she needs someone to be there for her. Please, Athos. Take care of her, and my son." Athos' head snapped up, and he saw the melancholy smile spread over his friend's ghostly face. "Someone will need to teach him how to fight like a gentleman - make sure Porthos can help him with his hand-to-hand. Aramis for shooting. But not until he's older. Make sure he learns his letters, and-" He broke off in a choked sob. "take care of both of them for me, brother?" He asked, his voice soft, and his eyes pleading. "keep them safe. Let that be your purpose, if purpose is what you need." He paused, as if listening to someone who Athos couldn't see.

"Thomas and I agree that we don't want to see you on the other side for at least another twenty years, alright? Watch my son grow up, make sure he becomes a good man. And don't, for the love of God, let Constance wallow anymore - it's not healthy, for her, or for the baby."

With that, d'Artagnan faded into the night. Athos reached out a hand as if to stop him, but he met only air. Even if this were merely a dream, the spectre was right about one thing - he could not let d'Artagnan's beloved go through this alone anymore. He would be there to help her, to hold her, to let her cry and rage and scream. They would grieve d'Artagnan together, and they might just find the future a little brighter, especially if the ghost's words were more than just a dream.

_As always, my reviewers are the light of my life!_


	35. Dart

**A/N: this little snippet is potentially part of a future chapter of Building A Family. Probably very distant future, but there we are. Enjoy it anyway, and let me know your thoughts.**

Flea noticed the boy as he stood at the edge of the Court, intimidated by their hidden faces and the noise they all made, but he seemed determined to find someone, so she decided that she'd talk to him. He looked safe enough. Besides, he had a look about him that she quite liked - it reminded her a little of Porthos, and her heart ached a little, remembering how he left them

"Kid, what you doing in a place like this? Y' don't belong here." She told him. He scowled, and backed away slightly, his hand going to- oh_, clever boy_, thought Flea with a smile. Someone's taught him well. "Put that away before you poke your own eye out, kid. What are you looking for?" He looked momentarily startled that she had noticed the concealed knife, but recovered himself admirably quickly

"Someone took my..." she watched as he searched for the right word, "well, he's not really my father - but he took me in. But I call him my Pa, and I have to find him. But everyone says that there's no way, that nobody can find where they took him. But. But I heard Po- uh. Someone my Pa knows say that folks here have ways of findin' people. And I have to find him. I _have_ to. I won't lose my family again." He looked and sounded so determined, and Flea felt for him, she really did.

"Alright. You can call me Flea. I'll see what I can do. My little sister is the best tracker there is. Her name is Moth. And you won't be getting her services free, young man. We gotta eat." The boy just grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

"She can have all my allowance. Pa gives me change to buy treats sometimes, but I don't spend it. I save it. In case of emergencies." he told her proudly. She tried not to smile, but she was starting to really like this kid - he was smart, shrewd. He wouldn't have done too badly if he'd had to live in their Court, she thought.

"Well, I'd say that finding your missing Pa sounds like an emergency, wouldn't you?" She smiled. "Meet me back here at noon. There's nothing and no one that my Moth can't find." She assured him. He paused, as he was about to run back to wherever he had come from, and turned back to face her.

"It's not exactly my name, Mademoiselle Flea, but you can call me Dart." And with that, he shot off at a run.

_Dart..._ thought Flea, _the name fits._


	36. Not a Big Deal

**A/N: A drabble written for a prompt on tumblr. Tag to 1x05. D'Artagnan apologizes to Porthos. I will be editing and uploading a few more of my favourites that I wrote last night, so you'll probably see them soon as well.**

They hadn't been back from the Court for long, and Porthos seemed not to want to really talk about what happened, and that was fine for Aramis and Athos, who were content to leave it at that, and put it behind them, but it bothered d'Artagnan. He could see that something was eating at the man, and he didn't want to just let it go. He knew if he mentioned his worries to the others, they would probably tell him to leave Porthos be, that he'd be back to himself eventually. But it didn't sit right with him.

So he went and bought a bottle of wine with some of his remaining savings, and he marched himself over to Porthos' apartments. He knocked on the door a little more timidly than he usually did, and when Porthos answered the door, he was understandably surprised.

"Kid, what- has something happened?" He asked, his voice hoarse. d'Artagnan shook his head.

"No. I just. I know you said you wanted to be left alone, and the others accepted that, but I don't think you really meant it. And I brought you this," he held up the wine "as, well, as a bit of an apology, really."

"What for?" Porthos asked, genuinely surprised. This was a gesture that he'd expect from Aramis, not their new recruit, but he watched the way d'Artagnan squirmed under his gaze, as if he were ashamed, and it made sense. "Ah. Had a moment of doubt, did you?" He nodded, feeling too guilty to look Porthos in the eye. "See, here's the thing, kid. So did I. So really, you weren't thinking anything that I wasn't, myself." He shrugged, like that there was all there was to it, but d'Artagnan's conscience still wasn't soothed.

"But I doubted you" d'Artagnan whispered, as if it were a crime on par with murder. "I should have known better." Porthos shook his head, but he smiled and clapped d'Artagnan on the shoulder, at the same time managing to pull him through the door.

"Well, you know now. Don't make it into a big deal. But if you need to hear me say it, I will - I forgive you for doubting me. Now, are you going to help me finish this bottle that you so kindly bought me?" D'Artagnan felt lighter than he had in days, and accepted the offer with a smile.

They drank together in silence for a while before Porthos spoke. "You know, I doubted you, too, when you were trying to find me. For a moment, I thought you'd all abandoned me."

"Like you said," d'Artagnan assured him. "It's not a big deal. You know better now. We're in this together, all of us. No brother left behind."

"Aye," Porthos agreed, raising his glass to knock it against d'Artagnan's. "I can drink to that"

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><p><em>My dear reviewers, promise me that nothing will ever come between us 3 (I'm going to run out of lines to use soon, probably)<em>


	37. Coming Home

**A/N: This is something a wee bit different. Athos/Constance/d'Artagnan, for mithlomi on tumblr and AO3**

D'Artagnan had been gone for a week, on an important errand given to him personally by the king himself. He did not know exactly what had gained him such great favour with Louis, but he wasn't about to question it. As it was, he returned home tired, soaked through to the skin, and he had the beginnings of a fever from a minor wound that he had let get infected. Aramis was going to give him an earful when next he saw him.

But right this moment, he could care less about all of that, because he had two very special people to return to. Constance and Athos awaited his return, and as soon as he had handed in the report to Treville, who had in turn gone to notify the king of the mission's success, he went to greet them.

If Constance had answered the door, perhaps he might have gotten away with saying he was tired and headed straight to bed, but as it was, Athos met him at the threshold, ready to embrace him, only to from when d'Artagnan took a step towards him.

"You're injured." He stated, worry and accusation clear in his eyes.

"I'm alright Athos. It's nothing too serious. I just want to go to sleep." D'Artagnan batted away the hands that went to search for his wound, disregarding his pleas entirely. "At least let me through the door first, you overbearing oaf." He protested, to which Athos inclined his head and guided him to the chair, helping him take off his boots and his trousers, which revealed a hastily applied bandage on his left calf, which had begun to bleed through. Athos scowled when he peeled away the bandages and uncovered the inflamed wound, caused by a sword, slashed across the younger man's lower leg.

"This needs stitches, you damned fool."

There was a knock on the door - Athos handed d'Artagnan some fresh cloth to keep pressed against his leg and went to answer it. Aramis and Porthos barged in.

"So how is- ah." Aramis frowned, kneeling down next to d'Artagnan. "Porthos, go and fetch me some hot water. Athos, I assume you know where Constance keeps her sewing supplies?"

They both left to complete their tasks whilst Aramis studied the wound. "This is nearly a day old. It's not as deep as it could have been - but you could very easily have bled to death with this untended. And now it's infected." Aramis cursed under his breath. "You don't do things by halves, do you, boy? Just how did you manage to keep in your saddle with your leg like this?"

"Had to. I had important letters to deliver. Concerning national security."

"How do you manage to get all the most dangerous missions, these days?"

"Because the king is fond of me" he deadpanned. Porthos returned with the water and some cloths just before Athos with the needle and thread.

"Well, I should hope so. I wouldn't like to think what he would do if he wasn't fond of you, if this is how he treats his favourites" Aramis teased lightly as he scrubbed the wound thoroughly. D'Artagnan was used to the pain by now, of being injured, and of being sewn back up. He merely sat in silence whilst Aramis threaded the needle in and out of his flesh.

_"Do you know," Aramis had said, the second time he had stitched his young friend shut (the first the boy had been unconscious from the bloodloss), "That you are perhaps the best patient I have ever had."_

Athos hovered as Aramis tied off the final stitch, and caught d'Artagnan as he tilted on his chair, eyes half-mast.

"Thank you for coming, both of you, but I think I should just get him to bed, before Constance comes back. He's going to need his strength for that argument." Both of them took their leave, and resolved to make a night of it at the tavern, now that they weren't going to be having their "family dinner". To be honest though, they had half-expected it. D'Artagnan's mission had been a dangerous one, and they were well aware that he might need time to rest. They all hated him being alone on his missions, but he was the king's most trusted Musketeer out of the whole garrison, and Treville seemed to be angling for him to become Captain after his retirement. They could cope with him coming home injured. They could fix that. What they all feared most was that one day he would get in trouble without them there to look out for him, and that he would get himself killed.

Athos sighed as he half-dragged, half-carried d'Artagnan to the bed they shared with Constance. He slipped the boy's coat off and undid his shirt, leaving him in only his smalls. He traced underneath his ribs, where he could still feel the raised scar from when he'd shot him in the middle of the street. Kissing him gently on the forehead, Athos took the blankets and tucked d'Artagnan in as if he were a child. He sighed.

"Constance is going to kill you, you know, and then she's going to kill me, because apparently, when I can't convince you not to go on a mission alone because you're a stubborn idiot, any scratch you happen to get when you're gone is _my_ fault, and I'm the one in the doghouse." He sighed and shook his head at the sleeping form by his side. D'Artagnan looked so peaceful in sleep, lips parted, a flush on his cheeks from the fever, but he seemed otherwise unbothered by it. Athos ruffled his hair and stood. "Well. I shall wait for Constance to return with ingredients for lunch - you rest, Constance has some news for you, when you wake."

_Thank you for coming home to us._

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><p>When Constance returned home, the scene before her was hardly the one she had hoped for. What she would have liked was for d'Artagnan to have returned whole and healthy without a scratch upon him. That had, admittedly, been a little naive of her to think. It was hardly the worst case scenario she had envisioned many of the nights - especially the ones where she had been alone, Athos off on a simple mission of his own. Treville was always careful to make sure that if they weren't together, at least one of them was relatively safe, bless the foresight of that man. The worst she would think up would be him lying, cold and bloodied in the middle of nowhere, bleeding out, with only his stalwart steed standing by him, even as he died - and he would always have their names on his lips - hers, and Athos'. On the very lonely nights, even the horse had abandoned him.<p>

So there was a mixture of relief and anxiety which welled up within her when she found that Athos was watching over the sleeping form of their lover. Well, Constance's husband, now - it wouldn't be respectable if she didn't marry one of them, and that way it was easier to pretend to those that weren't their trusted friends that they were what they were to each other. She loved them both equally, however, though she had not known it to be love until d'Artagnan had arrived like a whirlwind into both of their lives.

Athos looked up with a tired smile at her arrival, absently dabbing at d'Artagnan's forehead with a cool cloth.

"How is he?" She asked, carefully watching his expression. Athos sighed, but it was frustrated and exasperated fondness, not graveness, thank God.

"He rode through the cold and rain to deliver important letters between Louis and the King of Spain. And now he's taken chill because of it. He needs to rest. But perhaps if you fixed him some broth?"

"Athos." Constance's voice was quiet, but he knew enough about that tone of her voice to fear it greatly. "Don't try to keep anything from me." She warned.

"There was a wound on his leg, a little infected, but nothing to worry about overmuch, so long as we keep it clean." Constance bit her lip - it wasn't Athos she was angry with, and shouting at d'Artagnan whilst he was sick would not help towards his recovery.

"He's an idiot." She huffed. Athos laughed, and invited her to sit on his lap, which she did, and set her head against the crook of his neck, sighing into his skin as he put his arms around her.

"I know." He agreed. "I think we knew that from the start."

"But he's our idiot, isn't he?" She felt Athos' soft chuckle echo through his chest as he held her close.

"I was really looking forward to telling him." She complained.

"I know", Athos replied patiently, rubbing circles with his thumb on her shoulder. She wouldn't mind falling asleep here, but then, the bed was there - and there was no reason that they couldn't just hop into it beside d'Artagnan.

"I suppose that'll just have to wait until he wakes up. But I do believe you were going to make broth for our idiot over there, dearest?" Constance swatted at him playfully.

"I hope you're not just expecting me to cook because I'm the woman here, Athos, love." She replied. Athos just rolled his eyes.

"Have you forgotten the last time you let me in the kitchen?" He reminded her, and he knew she did, by the mortified expression on her face. "I can cook simple fare in the field - but you forget that most of my life I had servants for such things as meals. And besides, I only ask because the resident chef is currently abed" he explained, gesturing to d'Artagnan, still blissfully unaware of their presence. Or perhaps not so blissful - when Constance saw the troubled expression on his sleeping face, she darted over to the side of the bed and placed a gentle hand on the curve of his jaw, stroking his cheek.

"Hush, love, hush. It's all past now, all done, hush. I love you, Athos loves you - remember that, love, we're here." D'Artagnan's eyes shot open, but, out of practice, he stayed very still until he knew where he was. He looked up gratefully to Constance, who only smiled that bright, shining smile and kissed him on the cheek.

"What was it this time, love?" she asked. His face looked different than after any other nightmares she had coaxed him out of, and it had her curious.

"uh...not had that one for years" he said, more to himself than to his loves. "I...did I ever tell you about what happened to my mother?" Constance's eyebrows shot up, and she shook her head. Athos, however, nodded.

"You told me that she was shot by bandits when you were ten." His eyes narrowed. "You never told me you witnessed it."

"Dreamed about it for years after. But - but it stopped, years ago. They stopped. I don't understand what would start them again now." He rubbed at his chin, frustrated by his lack of understanding.

"Perhaps the ones who ambushed you seemed similar?" Athos suggested, and then hated himself for mentioning it when Constance looked up to glare at him. _That_ is a look he does not want to cross.

"Constance." D'Artagnan soothed, "I'm alright. I'll rest up for a week or so and then I'll be fit for duty, and I promise not to overdo it, alright?"

"You'd better." She sniffed, and leapt forward to wrap her arms tightly around him. "Because I don't care whose fault it is, my baby is not being without either of its fathers!" Underneath her embrace, d'Artagnan sat rigidly, his face suddenly pale as the sheets he was wrapped in, despite the fever.

"Constance," Athos rebuked, though his smile was almost intolerably fond, "That was hardly the best way to tell him."

"Well, he knows now." She muttered, not bothering to move her face from d'Artagnan's chest.

"You're..." He gulped, dumbfounded. Obviously, theoretically, he knew that it was a possibility, but many people tried to conceive for months, _years_ before anything happened. And. And now-

As he processed what she had told him, a massive grin spread across his face and he held her even more tightly, even as he looked meaningfully at Athos, who understood and moved to the bed as well, until all three of them were embracing and kissing and crying tears of joy.

"Welcome home, d'Artagnan." Athos murmured as he kissed the top of his head. "Constance keeps getting distracted from making that broth for you"

"but you can't- I mean, she's-"

"If you're about to insinuate that being pregnant makes me in any way delicate, I will get my sword and run you through myself, don't think I won't, Monsieur!" she huffed, and went down the stairs to the kitchen. D'Artagnan flopped back onto the pillows supporting his head and sighed. He wished he wasn't so tired - he'd just woken up. And they were going to be parents, all three of them.

"d'Artagnan" Athos began. "Stop thinking so much. You need to rest. I don't want this fever getting worse, or the chill getting into your lungs. For once in your life, boy, slow down and let us take care of you."

D'Artagnan blinked owlishly and nodded, giving Athos a small smile. As he drifted into dreams once more, there was one thought which filled his mind with warmth:

_It's good to be home_


	38. Not What I Had In Mind

**A/N: Changing it up with a bit of femslash here, Constance/Milady to be precise. Modern AU and wow I love writing Milady as sweetly and wonderfully evil it's so much fun. This was originally a drabble on tumblr, but I fleshed it out a bit.**

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><p>"You know, when I asked you to help me with my outfit, this isn't exactly what I had in mind" Constance protested nervously. In the tight, blood red dress and thick eyeliner, she didn't feel like herself. There was no way that someone that confident could be her. She looked like someone who could make men and women alike fall at their feet and worship her - Constance wasn't that person. She was just a simple country singer and there was no way she could go on stage looking like this. Just how was she supposed to walk in those heels? They looked sharp enough to cut a man's throat! "I thought it would be less... ah, revealing?"<p>

Anne simply smirked.

"Don't you like it?" She asked, her soft, velvety voice sounding genuinely wounded, but when Constance turned to apologize for sounding ungrateful, she just laughed - though she had to admit, the expression her protege wore then was adorable. "You look amazing" she assured her. "You're going to absolutely kill them out there." Her grin was wide and feral, and Constance rolled her eyes.

"Don't say that as if actual bloodshed would please you, dear. I know your dream job is to be the Black Widow, but please, behave. A pile of bodies wouldn't exactly be a good impression for a first live concert, would it?"

"Oh, I suppose not." Milady conceded, sounding thoroughly put-out now that the prospect of murder most foul was off the table. "But I hope you know, you're going to be amazing. Walk like a queen - shoulders back, head high, think MURDER, and just strut, got it? You are divine, and they are mere mortals who should be groveling at your feet just to hear your voice even for a moment, understand me?"

Constance laughed, happily distracted from her previous nerves. Anne never could get enough of that sound. "Loud and clear. Do I get a kiss for luck?" She asked as someone called her to come to the stage.

"Always, my love" Milady pressed a soft kiss to her lips, careful not to smudge her make up, and snuck a sprig of forget-me-nots into her hair. It pleased her to gift Constance with the flowers that she had come to see as her calling-card, so that whenever she took to the stage, a part of her was standing up there with her. "Now, go get 'em, tiger" She ushered Constance out the door. Nothing was going to ruin this debut, nothing. And if anything tried... well. They'd learn the hard way that it did not do to cross Milady de Winter. She might have long ago given up that name, along with the job that it was attached to -but that did not mean she'd let her skills rust. She only hoped Constance never found out - it wouldn't do to have to go through what she did with Olivier all over again. No. That mess was better avoided. And Constance might have brothers, but they were not the sort to go delving into someone's sordid past, like poor, unfortunate little Thomas had. As long as she did right by Constance, they would leave her be, and since that was exactly what she intended to do, no one would need to die.

Still, she felt the urge to get out one of her knives and polish it. Just in case.

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><p><em>My dear reviewers, as always, <strong>I love you<strong>, and I'll say it again, with added admiration and respect. xxx_


	39. Domestic Drabbles

**A/N: Again, these were expanded from a drabble of mine on tumblr. **

**Pairings: Aramis/Porthos**

**d'Artagnan/Athos**

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><p>"Really, Porthos, I think you missed your calling." Aramis informed him confidently. He turned to look at the man with his arms folded and both eyebrows raised.<p>

"Yeah? What exactly would that be, then?"

"You would have been a most excellent gourmet chef. Could have been famous throughout Paris - why, this is a dish fit for the King himself!" He announced brightly, and Porthos had to chuckle at his enthusiasm.

"Yeah, you figure?" He thought about it for a while, and smiled at the scene which played itself out in his head. "Me a chef, and you a seamstress. Sounds downright domestic, doesn't it, dearest?" Aramis didn't even blush, but had the gall to beam proudly at Porthos as he leant forward for a kiss. And Porthos was stubborn, but he could never resist those lips for long, and so he found himself obliging Aramis and leaning in to meet him, leaving the pot unattended for the moment. Ach, it would be fine.

"Will you make dinner again tomorrow? It's Athos' turn and I'd rather eat the Queen's fish again than let him near the pots." He begged after they had broken apart again, with that sincere pouting face that Porthos could never quite resist.

"Fine. But only if you mend the bullet hole in my shirtsleeve."

"If I must" Aramis huffed, but picked the shirt off the floor and went in search of a needle and thread nonetheless.

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><p>D'Artagnan was raking through his drawer and when he couldn't find what he was looking for, he slammed it shut in frustration, running a hand through his hair, with his eyes still hurriedly scanning every corner of the room. If he couldn't find it, he was going to be late. They were both going to be late.<p>

"Hey, Athos?" he called back to the man who was still lying in d'Artagnan's bed, looking half-asleep, "have you seen my-" He narrowed his eyes at the smug expression on his lover's face.

"Athos." He folded his arms and pouted, in what Athos assumed was supposed to be an intimidating glare, but he just found it absolutely adorable. The way d'Artagnan looked when he was hot and bothered like this - it was delicious.

"Where have you hidden my shirt?" The older man took in the sight of d'Artagnan's shirtless body, young, strong, and unmarred, save for the scar from the bullet wound that _he_ had inflicted, and committed it to memory before throwing the shirt, which he had merely lay on top of, into the Gascon's grasp.

"Why did you take my shirt in the first place?" He asked as he hurriedly slipped it on, tucking the bottom of it neatly into his breeches.

"You look so adorable when you're flustered. I couldn't resist." Athos smirked. "So really, it's your own fault." d'Artagnan rolled his eyes, smiling.

"Hurry up, you sappy old idiot. Treville wants us in the courtyard by eight."

Turning, he grabbed Athos' own shirt from where it had been thrown carelessly on the floor and threw it so it landed on his lover's face. it was worth it for the snort of laughter he got out of it when Athos put it on back to front and he had to help him to put it on properly, even if it meant that in the end, they did end up being late.

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><p><em>Reviews would be absolutely lovely, my dears :)<em>


	40. Constance Week: Day 1 (Fave Line)

_A/N: This was written for Constance Week on tumblr, which is running from 6-12th of July, and there's a theme for each day. the name for the blog is whyshouldmenhaveallthefun . tumblr . com (without spaces) if you want to check it out._

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><p>Constance Week : Day 1<p>

**Favourite Scene/Line/Episode**

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><p><em>"Touch me again and I will gut you like a fish."<em> She had said those words once before, to a man she had ended up loving with all of her heart. This time, though, she was brandishing her knife at the husband who had never treated her as an equal, who had only ever looked down upon her as a silly little woman. Had only ever bought her jewellery so that he could flaunt his wealth - it had never been anything to her taste.

Every time they had lain together had been awful for her. Her husband clearly had no idea what it took to please a woman. No wonder they had never had children. That feeling had only become more insistent after she and d'Artagnan had spent nights together. The way d'Artagnan made her feel - like she was a goddess to be worshipped and adored - surely that was how love was meant to be.

And she might have given up her freedom with d'Artagnan, where she could have had everything that she ever wanted, so that her pathetic slimeball of a husband didn't kill himself, but she was beginning to wonder why she even bothered. She was quite sure she wouldn't even shed one tear if she woke up the next morning to find his throat slit. She even found herself wishing that Milady hadn't left France, just so she could request her services. Payback for the whole kidnapping mess.

As it was, today, her husband had pressured her to make love to him - in the loosest sense of the word, after all, it wasn't like there was any love involved in their marriage anyway. He'd placed a hand on her shoulder, which she flinched away from, and turned to face him with a snarl, pointing the kitchen knife at his throat. Which was how they'd gotten to this point in the first place.

"If you want to keep those hands, Monsieur, I suggest that you keep them to yourself. I'm leaving. And you are not going to stop me." She picked up a bag of her things which she had kept hidden in d'Artagnan's room for just such an occasion as this. She took a malicious sort of glee from the helpless look on her husband's face. No, not her husband. Jacques Bonacieux. He was nothing to her. Nothing. She was a respectable married woman no longer. She was the wind, quickening a flame until her misery was nothing but ashes and memory.

She held her head high and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind her, and her heart felt light as a feather.

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><p><em>I'm not looking for absolution, I want<em> **reviews**. :D


	41. Constance Week: Day 2 (fave outfit)

_A/N: This one gave me a bit more trouble than the last, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Constance is beautiful and wonderful, and I know that a lot of you are here for all the brotherly love, but that doesn't mean we can ignore all of the wonderful female characters of this show. They need love and attention too. So if more people could write about Constance and Milady and Queen Anne and Flea and Alice and Agnes and Fleur and Ninon and Christine (that was Louis' sister, remember? France's most important spy in Savoy. Why are we not hearing more about her?) oh! And let's not forget Adele, like the show did. Adele deserves her own story. How did she end up as the Cardinal's mistress? Why did she decide that Aramis was worth risking her life? When did she first decide that she loved him?_

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><p><span>Constance Week - Day 2<span>

**Favourite Outfit/Hairstyle**

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><p>Constance loved her cloak. Drawing it over herself, hiding anything that would identify her from a distance, she felt like she could be anyone. It was so easy, to hide, to disappear from view. Having it with her helped her to play the role of the wet-nurse. It was always easier to pretend she wasn't Constance Bonacieux when she had her cloak. She was just nobody and anybody, and there was no one here who would question that for even a moment, and even though she was trying to re-kidnap a baby to hand back to its mother, her breaths felt lighter than they had in Paris for years.<p>

It was easier, too, when her hair was securely in a style which held it up. She felt like it helped her keep who she really was inside - that was part of the reason she had it down so often these days, since d'Artagnan made her feel more like herself than she had felt in so many years. It felt more right to let that part of herself free when he was around. Speaking of which, now that she was holding the baby in her arms, she could imagine the person she sorely wished she could be.

They'd move back to his farm, and he'd be so very busy with the livestock and the tenants and business in the village, but he would always have time for her, even as her belly grew rounder and rounder and she got grouchier and more impatient and began to get the most ridiculous cravings that, if she asked, he would go to the ends of the earth just so she could be satisfied. And then they would have the most beautiful daughter and her name would be Rosaline and he would hold her in his arms every night and be the most devoted father and she would watch them both and be just so happy that sometimes she would cry, wondering how she got so lucky. They would live there until they grew old and watched their daughter grow - marry if she wanted to, and if not, then the farm would be hers and they'd give her a sword and let her fight off whoever thought they could take it from her...

She shook herself out of the daydream. There was no time for such frivolous nonsense as a non-existent life with someone she could never be with anyway.

She had a job to do, mercenaries to deceive and a baby to give back to its mother.

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><p><em>Reviews are always welcome, and encouraged, my darlings :)<em>


	42. Constance Week: Day 3 (Fav Relationship)

Constance Week: Day 3

**Favourite relationship (romantic) - d'Artagnan/Constance**

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><p>If it was what she wanted, he was hard-pressed not to give in to what she wished. When she asked it of him, he left her with her husband, though it tore at them both, because they both knew that Monsieur Bonacieux could never make her happy the way that they had been happy together. And if she'd ever said that she didn't love him anymore, and he could be sure it wasn't her husband influencing her, he would let her go. It would hurt, but she thankfully she had known what she wanted, and what she wanted was him.<p>

He could hardly believe that they were married now - just a small ceremony, and the only ones there his three dearest friends, Fleur, and Constance's brothers, who had been quick to tell him that if he ever hurt her, they would destroy him. He'd replied that Constance would do that before they had even heard about it, and she didn't need them do protect her when she was perfectly capable of protecting herself - she could have her own justice if she wished, and no one would speak for her since she had her own voice. Constance had looked so proud of him then, for treating her like she'd asked to be, as an equal. He would lay siege to the world if it earned him but one of her smiles, but one kiss, but one embrace.

All she had asked though, was for him to take her back to Gascony. He still owned the land, and the farm could be rebuild, and they could live the life they had both imagined for themselves that first night they made love, when he told her of the meadows, and the winding streams, and cattle lazily grazing the fields, scattering as they would gallop past, d'Artagnan on his dark stallion, and he would find the finest mare in all of France, for no less was good enough for his dear Constance. She'd laughed at him then, and called it a beautiful dream. It was those words she had told him when she had told him that she could not leave her husband.

Now, as they rode towards the farm, d'Artagnan pointing out places where he used to play, houses of people he knew, and just telling her stories of his youth, Constance took it all in, a slow smile spreading across her face, and brightening it significantly. It wasn't a dream anymore. It was going to be their home. That didn't mean it wasn't still beautiful, though.

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><p><em>As always, I love it when you review, so please do, my dears.<em>


	43. Constance Week: Day 4

_A/N: Today's thing is Tamla Kari appreciation day, but since I can't really make a fic about that, I just wrote this instead._

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><p><span>Constance Week: Day 4<span>

**Glad You Came.**

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><p>He looked terrible. They'd let her stay with him because they didn't know whether or not he would make it, and quite frankly, he'd be more likely to recover if she was there to keep him in line. He'd do anything for her, after all.<p>

So she sat herself down and wiped at his brow with a damp cloth, trying to cool his fever, and remembered times when her mother had done the same for her and her brothers. She wondered what her mother would think of her now, what she would think of d'Artagnan. She'd like to think her mother would have approved of the Gascon. Certainly if she had been alive there was no way in hell she would have let her only darling daughter be married off to Jacques Bonacieux.

She knew Aramis has gone to wash his hands, now that his work stitching up d'Artagnan is done. Porthos was likely to be with him, but Athos had stayed. It only made sense, she supposed, seeing as Athos had been the one who had taken d'Artagnan under his wing. Someone to fill the hole the death of his father had left in his heart. She thought back to when he still stayed with her at Bonacieux' house. She'd checked on him one night when he seemed especially quiet and her husband had sent her to "check the lodger hasn't hanged himself, it would be bad for business". She found him crying silently, holding a small wooden carving, whispering _I'm sorry_, _father_, over and over. She had just told her husband that he was grieving, and to let him be.

That same husband who was now dead. The evidence all pointed to murder, and Constance found a forget-me-not on her pillow the next day. She felt guilty that as he was laid into the ground, her tears had more to do with relief than sadness. She was finally free. She had avoided d'Artagnan for a little while after that though, and he seemed to understand the need for her to sort through her feelings, which she appreciated. She didn't want to rush into anything right now, she wanted to embrace the freedom which she had been denied for so long.

But now, thinking about it, perhaps she had waited too long. She promised herself that when he woke up, she was going to kiss him and hold him close to her forever. Because Constance was glad that, well, what seemed like years ago now, a hot-headed farm boy from Gascony crashed his way into her life, and all the adventure that came with it. Even the heartbreak would have been worth it, if he would just wake up.

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><p><em>Please read, and reviews are always welcome. Even if it sometimes takes me a while, I try to always reply to them. I like letting you know personally that I really do appreciate what you all have to say. It's just that I'm lazy so sometimes it takes me a while.<em>


	44. Constance Week: Day 5 (Fave Headcanon)

**A/N: So this headcanon belonged to placeofold on tumblr, and I worked from that:** _My favourite headcanon for Constance is that she has on occasion walked into a bar/ladies house/gambling parlor and dragged Athos, Aramis and Porthos (respectively) by their ear berating them for their life choices. She does it to d'Artagnan too_

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><p>Constance Week: Day 5<p>

**Favourite Headcanon**

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><p>Constance sighed, knowing that today would consist of her dragging Athos out of whatever dump of a tavern he'd found to drown his sorrows in this time. They'd met because he had saved her and her husband from being robbed just a few weeks ago, and had asked for nothing in return but to be allowed to escort them home safely. Ever since then, she'd noticed him, passed him in the street a few times. And then she got curious. So whenever her husband was away on business, she would follow him.<p>

That sounded rather strange when she actually said it out loud, but she was motivated by genuine concern. She never saw him _with _anyone, when he was patrolling the city for evil, or whatever it was that Musketeers did on the streets of Paris.

She found him going into a tavern, and didn't see him leave after midnight, so she walked in, only to find him collapsed over the table farthest away, tucked into a corner, wine bottles surrounding him. Well, that just wouldn't do. Whoever this man was, he certainly shouldn't be alone and drunk like this - it was irresponsible. And that wasn't the impression of him she had when he had rescued her and her husband, no. He had seemed the very epitome of efficiency and grace.

"Oi, you here for this one, love?" the barmaid asked as she was washing the counter. Without really thinking it through, Constance nodded.

"He... he's a friend." She felt the need to clarify.

"Wasn't suggestin' otherwise, Madame Bonacieux. We all know you's a respectable sort. Besides, I've tried three times to convince him to come to my bed, but apparently the only woman he'd ever love is dead." Constance gasped.

"But that's horrible!" She exclaimed, and felt suddenly very protective of this Musketeer. Nodding to herself, she went up to where Athos was sprawled over the table and tried to shake him awake, but to no avail. That was that, then. She was going to have to carry him.

And she did. She dragged him through the streets and back to her house, and put him up in their guest room. Thoughtfully, she left a bucket at the side of the bed, just in case, and then she made her way to her own room. She was glad that her husband was away so often, because it gave her peace. Not that they ever talked much, but she always felt freer when he was away. He never would approve of a strange man staying in the house - not without paying rent, anyway - but here she was.

She loved to do things her husband wouldn't approve of. It was her secret little game with herself. She had to keep herself amused somehow, didn't she? For all that she respected her husband, he was just so boring.

And yes, that did extend to the bedroom, thank you very much.

She woke early, which was just as well, because she could hear Athos swearing as he woke up in an unfamiliar room.

"You'll have to excuse me, Monsieur, but I could hardly leave you where I found you. I thought you might appreciate a warm bed for the night." He blinked up at her from where he sat, still obviously disorientated, but he concentrated on her face and frowned.

"Madame Bonacieux? What on earth?"

"It has come to my attention that you sit and wallow in drunkenness when left to your own devices. And as you have no one, it seems, to drag you home, I took it upon myself to bring you here."

"You carried me." His voice was flat and he definitely sounded dubious.

"Do you see anyone else here? Go and wash, tidy yourself up. You're hardly fit for duty like that, you ruffian." He blinked, surprised, and quickly blushed, bowing his head.

"Forgive me, Madame, I am not at my best this morning."

"I'll let it slide just this once. Now, go and get cleaned up and for god's sake make some friends. If _I_ have to carry you home every night I'll get muscles, and goodness knows that wouldn't please my husband." Athos splashed water on his face from a washbasin that she handed him.

"You sound rather happy about that."

"Oh, don't mind that. I like my little rebellions is all." Athos raised an eyebrow, and she felt uncomfortable with how long he stared into her eyes.

"Is your husband cruel to you, then?"

"What? No, no. He's just... boring. I get my excitement where I can, rescuing drunk Musketeers from drowning in copious amounts of wine." He smiled, and Constance felt that it was a great achievement for her to have coaxed that out of him.

"Well, this drunken Musketeer sincerely hopes that should ever the occasion arise, you shall come and rescue him from the sea born of fermented grapes." He bowed, and Constance couldn't help the snort of laughter - not very ladylike, but she was hardly a _lady_, now, was she?

"You should be so lucky. Now go, get your uniform and keep the city safe from the mysterious dark forces that lurk in the shadows. Off with you!" She shooed him out of the door, and felt that this was the beginning of a very odd friendship - but one that she would treasure.

She ended up dragging him out of taverns a few times after that, but it seemed that he took her advice, and made some friends. She didn't see him so often then, unless the other two were on missions. But Athos still tried to make time to see her, and regale her with stories of their adventures whenever her husband was gone.

When d'Artagnan came along, she lost count of the times she had to drag all _four_ of them out of some place or another at one point. And though she despaired of them all, she wouldn't have it any other way.


	45. Constance Week: Day 6 (Fave AU)

A/N: Sorry I didn't post this here when Constance week was actually happening, I kind of forgot about it, but I'm quite fond of this one, so enjoy :)

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><p><span>Constance Week: Day 6<span>

**Favourite AU:** Constance's arranged marriage is to d'Artagnan instead of Bonacieux.

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><p>Constance had never really wanted to get married, but she understood that she couldn't just spend her days in the house - it was hard feeding the whole family, and as she was the only girl, it would be expected that she was married off before her brothers were forced to make their way in the world. So she was at peace with the decision that a husband must be found for her.<p>

What she had not made her peace with, however, was that the man she was supposed to be marrying lived in Gascony, _on a farm_. Not only did she have no idea how to behave on a farm - it was so far away. She would not be able to visit her father or her brothers as often as she would like - if _at all_. And she'd heard horror stories from a few friends who had been recently married. But she would do her duty to her family, and that was that.

So when she actually met this d'Artagnan, she wasn't quite expecting him to be so young and, well. Attractive. As their fathers left them in the kitchen to get to know each other, and make plans as to a dowry or whatever it was that they did, she took a good look at him. He was tall, his hair seemed to have been combed very hastily just before they arrived. She wondered if it had ever met a brush before. He had lovely eyes, admittedly, and no, she was not going to keep staring at those lips. He was well dressed, for a farmer's son, but her own father had told her that his mother had come from a noble family, the d'Artagnans, and he had been raised to be a gentleman. He squirmed a little under her gaze, and she decided that he looked absolutely adorable when he blushed.

"Do I pass muster then, Mademoiselle?" She blinked, and then blushed a deep red to have been caught in her examination of his features. She stuttered and stammered an apology, but he smiled and waved it away. "Well, beautiful mademoiselle, will you have me? Or shall I explain to father that I am simply not good enough for such an angel as yourself? Because if you ask it of me, I will."

She stared at him, shocked at his words, but also pleasantly warmed by the idea of her having a choice in the matter at all.

"That won't be necessary, Monsieur. I believe I want to keep you, if you have more to say along those lines, flatterer." She was surprised by her own boldness, but the young d'Artagnan grinned, and held her hand in his and kissed it.

"Then I shall tell you that I have never seen a woman so beautiful, or if I had, it is forgotten, in light of your smile." She kept her eyes on the floor after that because she was too embarrassed to say anything - no one had complimented her like this before, not really. It had only ever been cat-calls, and some had even mistaken her for a working girl. The nerve of them. She was a respectable merchant's daughter, albeit not a rich merchant. Certainly they weren't poor enough yet that she would have to sell herself to keep bread on the table.

"You know why my father and yours thought we'd be a good match?" d'Artagnan asked, and she shook her head. Her father hadn't really discussed any of this with her, and she had trusted him to make whatever decision he needed to. "No?" he confirmed, and lifted her head by the chin up gently so that she was facing him. "Apparently it's because you like adventure." She snorted.

"And a farmer's life is very adventurous, is it?"

"No, but I don't want to be a farmer all of my life - one day, I'm going to be a Musketeer." He said it with such confidence that she found herself grinning, and she began to really think about it.

"And then we'd move back to Paris?"

"Well, the Musketeers garrison is _in_ Paris, so yes?" She slapped him for being an arse, but she was laughing along with him.

"What about the farm though? Don't you need to look after it?" she asked with concern. "It does belong to your family after all."

"And it will stay in the family," he assured her. "Don't tell father this, but I have it all planned out. My cousin Roger has always been better at managing expenses that I have, so I'll ask father to ask him to assist in that, and then slowly give him more duties, and then ask if he wants the farm."

"And if he says no?" Constance asked, excited by his enthusiasm, but sensing a flaw in his plan. She had never been one to plan too far ahead in her future, but she could see it now as he described it, and she had never looked forward to anything more than she was now looking forward to spending more time with this young man.

"That's the best part. He's in on it. Has been since we were fifteen. He won't say no." She laughed, and heard footsteps coming from the opposite side of the house. Their fathers were probably done discussing whatever terms were to be agreed upon. There was something comforting about the fact that she was not the only one having her fate decided for her. A sort of "we're stuck in this together" camaraderie. Also there was the fact that she found this boy a genuine delight to look at, and he could make her laugh.

"Quick, look like you're laughing at something I said." He told her and she rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

"No, how about I say something and you laugh. I can be funny too, if the situation calls for it." D'Artagnan grinned as the door opened and both of their fathers walked through the door, looking thoroughly pleased with themselves.

"Well, what do you say, my dear?" Asked the older d'Artagnan kindly. Constance and d'Artagnan made eye contact, and she smiled slyly.

"Oh, I suppose he'll do." She tried to sound nonchalant, and it almost worked, until the man looked to his son and saw him trying to hold back a grin.

"I see. My daughter lives just a mile away from here with her husband, I'm sure she'll be delighted to help you with your dress and whatever else it is that you need to have ready." She blushed and thanked him for the offer, but assured him that she had a good friend who would do just as well.

She and d'Artagnan met almost every day after that, for meals together (with a chaperone, naturally) and she felt herself actually falling in love with him. He was by no means perfect, but he had such a strong sense of right and wrong, and knew what he wanted to do with his life - though they kept their conversations about him joining the Musketeers veiled in code words and suchlike around his father. It was their own private little secret, and she loved the thrill that it brought her. For his part, d'Artagnan often bought her little things that he saw at the marketplace which reminded him of her. Never anything to fancy or expensive, but always pretty, and it always suited her.

They were only engaged for a month before the wedding. It was a small ceremony, with very few people attending, just her father and brothers, and Fleur, who had helped her fancy up her best dress and done her hair up so well that Constance hardly dared touch it for fear it would all fall out in a dreadful mess. And then where would she be? D'Artagnan would never let her forget it if that happened. On his side of the church there was only his father and his sister, and she thought it was sad that her husband didn't come with her. She'd have to ask if there was some sort of story there, or if he and d'Artagnan just didn't like each other.

And here she was getting distracted at the priest was reading out the vows and she found herself just repeating them automatically. She did mean them, she really did, but none of it felt real then at all. It was just like some sort of mad fairy-tale, and they would disappear off into the sunset afterwards.

She said goodbye to her father, was almost hugged to death by her brothers, who wished her well, and all seemed to be genuinely fond of her new husband (though that stage hadn't been reached until they had threatened to kill him at least twenty times between them) and then they were on their way to Gascony.

And since she had never learned how to ride a horse, that meant sitting in front of d'Artagnan on his as he rode. Despite how uncomfortable her first time on a horse was, she was glad of it for the excuse to lean against her new husband's chest and just listen to the rhythmic thump-thump of his heartbeat by her ear, and revel in the fact that they would be spending the rest of their life together.

She was just about to fall asleep on the horse when a thought occurred to her and she sat up with a gasp, startling the horse into bucking them off. She landed on top of d'Artagnan, who groaned underneath her.

"Good god, Constance, what was that about." She scrambled off of him, feeling embarrassed. His father just rode up to them, holding their horse's reins in one of his hands.

"You should have seen your faced in midair, gawping like fish, the both of you." He laughed at them, and d'Artagnan picked himself off the ground and offered Constance his hand, which she accepted, still blushing furiously.

"I'm sorry," she told him, "But it only really just struck me just now that from now on I'm Madame Constance d'Artagnan." She looked up to see him smiling, open and just a little bit vulnerable.

"That you are, my love." He kissed her right there and then - with his father watching, no less! But she found that she didn't mind it. He then lifted her up and helped her back onto the poor horse, which was still a little skittish from their little incident. The ride to the inn they were staying at for the night was much quieter that, since she didn't have any more sudden epiphanies, and d'Artagnan insisted that she got the bed in their room whilst he slept on the floor, and she called him ridiculous.

"We are _married_ you know. It would hardly cause a scandal if we sleep in the same bed." He protested again, but she was firm. "You get in this bed right now, husband, or no kisses until we get to the farm." He could see in her eyes that there was no way he was winning the argument, so he stripped off his shirt and climbed into bed with her, wrapping his arms around her waist. And she wasn't going to lie, feeling his breath on the back of her neck and his arms curved around her body was a definite turn-on. They had both agreed though, sometime in the month of their engagement, that they were not going to consummate their marriage until they reached the farm in Gascony. It would feel cheap to do so in an inn, though she suspected the impatience she felt was mutual.

They spent the next week or so on the road, stopping at inns or convenient farmhouses along the way. In a way, for her, it was all a big adventure - she had never been this far out of Paris before, and seeing the vast open countryside - and hardly any people, it was all brand new to her. One new experience she could most definitely do without however, was how sore riding a bloody horse all day was. If she never got on one again it would be too soon.

"We're almost there now" d'Artagnan assured her as they passed a huge old oak tree which marked a fork in the dirt track which passed as a road. They rode along and she could see the cottage in the distance - she presumed that was the one they would be staying in for what her new father-in-law called "their time to be getting to know each other. I don't want to see you two for a week and I want you both to look thoroughly pleased with yourselves when you do appear."

They settled in, and d'Artagnan waved to his father as he left to see to the farm. Constance finally let her mind catch up with the situation, now that they had physically stopped moving. She was _married_, to her _husband_ who she was _in love with_ and they were finally _alone_.

"So, do we have a bedroom, husband, dearest?" she teased, and she loved the way that his eyes lit up when she called him that.

"We do indeed, my dearest wife" he replied.

It took quite a lot of effort to actually get to the bedroom, considering their lips were pressed together and their tongues were getting acquainted with each other's mouths and they managed to get a layer or two of outer clothing stripped off along the way, and when they did eventually tumble onto the bed, she felt the overwhelming need to laugh. Not at anything in particular - the whole thing was just so absurd. Her, with a husband, having sex. D'Artagnan, to his credit, didn't look one smidge embarrassed by her outburst, he just grinned, and asked her what she wanted to do first.


	46. Constance Week: Day 7 (Free Day)

A/N: This is another Athos/d'Artagnan/Constance one, though it's pretty vague. Also sort of an AU of part of 1.08

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><p><span>Constance Week: Day 7<span>

**Free Day **

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><p>They had a plan for this. Well, not this exactly, and when she said they, she really meant that Athos had a plan which was altogether very sensible and so she and d'Artagnan had agreed to it. Now that she needed to employ it though, she was very glad it was thought of in the first place. Though the plan hadn't exactly accounted for her husband apparently having the ear of the Cardinal, and be able to have d'Artagnan killed at the drop of a hat.<p>

Even if she couldn't properly warn him, she could let him know that it wasn't forever. And she could feel secure in the fact that Athos would be there to watch over him. She herself might not be so lucky, but whilst there was life, there was hope, so she took a steadying breath, and when d'Artagnan came through the door, she denounced him, and broke his heart so thoroughly that she wanted to go up to him right then and there and apologize and tell him that she didn't mean a word of it.

Instead, she looked him in the eye and told him that she was a _respectable, __**married**_ woman. Understanding flashed in his eyes, and they made a show of continuing argument, and his voice was still hoarse from his earlier, genuine heartbreak. She smiled at him, knowing that her husband couldn't see, and mimed the words: _Spy for the Cardinal_. D'Artagnan's eyebrows shot up and he gave her a short nod.

"I won't keep you then, _Madame_." There was just enough hurt in his voice to make it sound real. And to be fair, after some of the things she'd had to say to him, it probably was. But at least he knew that she was under duress and she fervently hoped that he and Athos could figure out something. In the meantime, she had kitchen-knives which needed sharpening.


	47. First Moon of Many

_A/N: this had been sitting unfinished for ages, so I decided to dust it off a little. Werewolf!d'Artagnan, hope you enjoy :) Please read and review!_

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><p>Being a werewolf proved to be useful in keeping track of his new friends. Especially one night when he found Athos alone, sat outside his apartments, smelling of despair and heartache and betrayal - it smelled old, though, and the man seemed resigned to it. He would have to prod carefully if he wanted to find the cause of it.<p>

He whined softly in sympathy, and the man's head darted up to stare in horror at the animal before him. It was fear that d'Artagnan smelled now - then acceptance. A jolt ran through him when he realised what that meant - _Athos yearned for death_. That was something that he could not allow. So he sidled closer and brushed up against him, placing his head on the man's lap and closing his eyes, yawning as he did so.

"What...?" Athos yelped, confused at this development, understandably, d'Artagnan supposed, since there was an adolescent wolf pressing against his side, warm fur oddly soothing as it whined sympathetically with his pain. That would seem odd to anyone not afflicted with lycanthropy. But d'Artagnan did not react to the surprise of his comrade, merely pressed closer to him, giving him warmth and comfort that is desperately needed, yet the man refused to reach out to his human friends for.

"Where did you come from?" He asked, half in confusion, half in wonder. D'Artagnan just licked the man's hand and nudged him until he agreed to move his legs, one after the other and walk home, for he decides that Athos is his responsibility tonight, since Aramis and Porthos are nowhere in sight to keep an eye on their melancholy drunkard. And in all honesty, this is not a place he was expecting to find any of his Musketeers (and wasn't that odd, knowing that they were _his_, despite their not being wolves - whenever he caught their scents, his mind went _pack pack pack home safe brothers)_, which was why he had chosen it to run through on this full moon in the first place.

It was his first full moon without his father by his side and despite the new family he had made for himself in the Musketeers, he had been feeling more alone than ever before. But he had held in his grieving howl. But now that he and Athos were walking side by side, and he waited outside Athos' door until the man had got his keys and flopped down, and had even seemed to be inviting him in - he could stay a wolf till morning, he supposed - he had no duties tomorrow - he felt a little lighter somehow.

At least Constance wouldn't have to complain about him chewing the furniture again. He was still incredibly embarrassed about that whole incident - it hadn't even been a full moon, but he'd been so stressed that it had forced the change. He was beyond grateful that she would deign to take him in, even knowing what he was. He tilted his head in the direction of the Bonacieux residence and he sighed. He was falling for her, and falling fast. He didn't know what to do. All he knew was that his kind mated once, for life. They could have flings, of course, but only one person could ever make their heart sing. No one who was not a wolf knew that, thought, and to tell her would only break her heart as well as his. Athos followed his gaze and frowned.

"Well, strange thing, do you want to come in? There's nothing out there but the cold." Athos grumbled, and the wolf resisted rolling his eyes at his friend. All the same though, he walked in and let Athos close the door behind him, before shaking, so that all the water lodged in his fur was shaken free and dripped onto the floor. Athos smirked wryly.

"You are an odd thing, aren't you? Are you someone's escaped pet? Some nobleman's tamed wild thing?" At the very thought of it, the lad's hackles rose. He bared his teeth and growled low in his throat. Athos raised his hands in surrender. "I insulted you, did I?" he asked, something like amusement flickered in his gaze. Sighing, Athos shook his head in wonder. "Just what am I doing?" He asked himself aloud. "You could probably tear my throat out whilst I sleep." D'Artagnan shook his head furiously, and he must, somehow, have looked mortified, because Athos stared at him. The stare was as heavy as any pack leader that he had ever met, so instinctively he flopped onto his belly and bared his throat to the man in submission, trying to get it into his friend's head that _I am not a threat._

Athos looked thoroughly bemused by his actions, but seemed to accept his submission, so he gathered himself back up and licked his hands, wanting him to know that he'd be there for him.

"You're not going to leave me alone so I can wallow in peace, are you?" d'Artagnan whined quietly as Athos scratched between his ears. His mother used to do that, and it felt so nice. It had always made him relax, and sleepy, ever so sleepy.

The next morning he woke curled up on Athos' bed. He went to the door and scratched it, and the older Musketeer, who had quite honestly gotten the best night's sleep he had ever had since he had his wife hanged for his brother's murder had woken up decidedly less grumpy than usual. D'Artagnan barked impatiently.

"You're just like a puppy, do you know that?" Athos complained, but there was only a fond exasperation behind it. D'Artagnan huffed and puffed himself up to his full height. He might not be the largest of weres, but he sure as day was no _puppy_. That was just insulting. He scratched the door again.

"Alright, alright, you impatient mutt, I'll open the door." His half smile was fond, and he smelled of old love and sadness. "As strange as this sounds, you remind me of my brother." D'Artagnan turned his head and tilted it curiously. "All impatience and exuberance - actually, forget that, you remind me more of d'Artagnan. I worry about him, you know. Every time he's in the field with us. I worry about what stupid stunt he's going to pull next that will get him killed. And it's not fair on him, I know, because he has potential, he has a _lot_ of potential. But there we are. Maybe he reminds me of Thomas as well." And if that wasn't a revelation and a half, then he wasn't a werewolf. But he was, and he had no idea what to do with the information, so he just logged it away in the back of his mind and ran as fast as his legs could carry him back to the Bonacieux household. He could deal with knowing that Athos had a brother, and worry about knowing that he had a reason for his over-protectiveness in the field another day. Right now he just wanted to sleep.


	48. The Second Moon Hung Low in the Sky

_A/N: 2nd one-shot with werewolf d'Artagnan. This is him with Aramis, post-The Good Soldier. Apparently werewolf snuggles seem to be my favourite thing_

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><p>The next time he changed and came across a friend, it was Aramis he met. He was lucky not to get shot in the face for his trouble, though, since the moment Aramis saw him he was reaching for his gun. But d'Artagnan just sat, patiently waiting for the man to either shoot, or drop the gun. He was terrified (Aramis didn't need to be the best marksman in the garrison to shoot a wolf at point-blank range), but he trusted his friend. Who did, eventually, after a lengthy staring contest, drop the weapon.<p>

"You're the one Athos talked about, aren't you?" He made sure to perk up at Athos' name and wag his tail. Aramis' smile was frail and cracked, but it was real, at least. "I thought he'd just dreamed you up. But, apparently not." The sigh he let out as he fell back against his bed was tired and broken, and d'Artagnan scuttled forwards to gently lick his hand. Absently, Aramis stroked his fur. D'Artagnan let him take whatever comfort he needed - after everything that happened these past few days, he owed the man that at the very least. Before the long, Aramis had sat down on the floor beside him, and made a rather amusing effort to get him to play with him. If he'd been human at the time, he might have laughed, but as it was, he just looked as un-amused as it was possible to look. He didn't mind a little rough-housing generally, but he wasn't really in the mood for it.

"I should probably go and say sorry to d'Artagnan." Aramis eventually said. Said wolf froze - he hadn't exactly said that he wasn't going to be at home, and though Constance could cover for him if she really had to, he really didn't want to put her to that inconvenience. So he just whined and made it sound like he wanted more attention - which he did, but that was besides the point. "No, you're right, it is late, and I shall just have to call upon him in the morning." Aramis frowned when the wolf kept eye contact. "What, you want to know what I'm apologizing about?" He wagged his tail and yipped enthusiastically in reply. "Oh, if you insist, you funny little pup. I asked something of the boy that I had no right to, and if my mind had been in the right place, I never even would have considered. But Mar-" his voice hitched and his breath caught in his throat, so he tried again, keeping a rather firm grip on d'Artagnan's scruff to steady himself as he did so, "Marsac was, for so very long, my only friend in the regiment. He was the first one to talk to me, you see. I was young when I joined the Musketeers. I was going to be married but- that's not important" I rather think it is thought d'Artagnan, somewhat childishly, after all, Aramis' past was no business of his, really. He could not help his burning curiosity as he perked his ears forward to listen to Aramis' voice as he continued his story.

"He taught me so many things. I was less bitter, and he spoke to me in ways that made me appreciate life again - I try to do that for Athos now, but if he was as drunk as I think he was on the night he met you, I think you already know why he needs it." The wolf made a sympathetic whine and nuzzled further into his lap. "Do you know, you infuriatingly curious creature, I almost think-" he shook his head, berating himself for even the thought. "That's foolish, I suppose, unless you are one of the Lord's servants in disguise to guide us through times of struggle."

D'Artagnan wriggled out of his grasp and tilted his head up to stare at him in shock. Did he know, then? What they were called, sometimes, in myth. Hounds of God. He couldn't figure out whether it was an innocently and accidental happening upon the truth without the man realising it or whether he truly knew what d'Artagnan was were both equally likely possibilities, given the man's overtly religious upbringing. Aramis stared back for a moment, before blinking and shaking his head.

"Clearly, this whole mess has quite gone to my brain, because I fancy that I see expressions in your face as I would see in a man. But that cannot be. Perhaps... Perhaps I am going quite mad. It wouldn't be the first time, you know... After- Savoy" and d'Artagnan could almost smell the bile that his friend choked back at the mention of that place, "It took a long time to believe any of it was real, and even now, I know when I wake I'll be afraid that all of my life from after then to now has been a dream." his eyes began to glaze over as his mind drifted back to the forest all those years ago.

D'Artagnan's only move was to rub his head firmly against Aramis' knee, and the contact (and the warmth of the wolf's fur, and tongue as he licked at Aramis' hand worriedly.

"You really are just a puppy, aren't you?" d'Artagnan huffed. Clearly, Athos wasn't the only one to think so. Aramis chuckled. "I'm naming you Charles, after d'Artagnan, because he is clearly our puppy." D'Artagnan wagged his tail as he brushed closer to Aramis in his happiness. He was always more tactile as a wolf - not that he wasn't as a person, but he could keep it in check then, for the most part. But as a wolf all he ever wanted to do was be close to those nearest to him and keep them all close at once and protect them.

But for now, he was just going to have to make do with watching over whichever one of them needed him the most on any given night. And he would give anything, as he watched Aramis ready himself for bed, if he could keep those nightmares from haunting his friend. He kept up a vigil at the foot of the man's bed, but as soon as he heard one whimper, his instincts swept into overdrive and he felt the need to protect his pack-mate - and that, he realised, was what all his friends had become to him, in the short months in which they had known each other - he jumped up onto the bed and curled up next to him, with his head resting on the other man's chest.

The warmth seemed to have done the trick, because Aramis soon settled, and feeling him relax, d'Artagnan started to dose off as well, taking his own comfort in the prescence of a friend. He would need to make sure he disappeared as soon as Aramis was up, though, if he was to have any chance of being at the Bonacieux residence before Aramis came by to give him that apology. He could worry about that later, though, right now his eyes were heavy as lead and he was exhausted, so he let himself sleep to the sound of Aramis' heart beating.

_I love reading each and every one of your reviews, they help me keep writing :)_


	49. Captain's Orders

A/N: Set a little bit after The Challenge (episode 8, so if you haven't got that far yet, don't read because there are a couple spoilers)

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><p>"Captain? You wanted to see me?" d'Artagnan asked, head poking through the door, sounding unsure. Treville glanced up and his expression softened. He'd been fond of the lad from the start - there had been something about him that reminded him of a very dear old friend, one whom he had not spoken to in years, but had, up until just around the time of d'Artagnan's arrival, sent occasional letters.<p>

"d'Artagnan, yes, you were just the man I wanted to see." He beckoned him inside. The younger Gascon was still wary, but less so, now that he'd heard the captain's voice. It wasn't his scolding voice. Honestly, the man knew how to make his Musketeers feel like misbehaving toddlers (which much of the time, admittedly, they were, but that was besides the point). "I don't suppose you would object to accompanying me on an outing?"

"Sir?" d'Artagnan asked, confused. If Treville wanted company on an official errand, he usually asked Athos to go with him, seeing as he was perhaps the most responsible of the Musketeers.

"I ask, because this particular one takes me to Gascony." As d'Artagnan's expression darkened, he sighed. "And I thought, perhaps, you could say a proper farewell to whatever is left of your childhood home, seeing as it is on our way." D'Artagnan nodded silently, swallowing the lump which had begun to form in his throat. He had been avoiding going back there at all costs. He didn't want to see the destruction Labarge had left in his wake, the charred remains... no. He'd seen Athos' manor go up in flames, and imagining that happening to the old farmhouse- he didn't even countenance it. He had pushed it resolutely from his mind. He was a Musketeer now, what need had he for any home but the garrison and his brothers? The captain must have noticed his flagging attention, for he smiled again.

"Listen to me, d'Artagnan - it might not seem like it right now, but... it might help you get some closure, for all that has happened since you made your way to Paris. You've been distracted during training a lot of the time, recently. He won't admit it if you ask him, but Athos told me he was worried, because you wouldn't tell him what was wrong." D'Artagnan tried not to blush in shame as he thought of what he had said to the elder Musketeer, who had, he knew, only been trying to help him.

"I know, and I'm sorry, sir. And you're right. The sooner I face it, the sooner I can move on." he eventually answered with a sigh. Treville gave him a small smile and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"That's a good lad. Be ready by noon tomorrow. " Taking that as a dismissal, d'Artagnan took his cue to leave, but Treville stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Your father didn't used to go by the name d'Artagnan, did he, lad?" The young Gascon looked up sharply into the Captain's face, but couldn't quite read the expression there. He shook his head slowly.

"No, that name comes from my mother's side of the family, he took it to... I can't remember what it was he said exactly, but something about avoiding someone in Paris." his eyes brightened when he realised what Treville must be saying.

"You knew him?" he asked, his words hardly above a whisper, throat once again threatening to close up on him. Treville nodded once, and sighed.

"I knew him as Bertrand de Batz." d'Artagnan grinned, nodding as he felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. He finally had someone he could share the memories of his father with, and someone who could share memories of their own. "We were soldiers together, serving the King's father. And I'll be sure to tell you what horrors we got up to tomorrow. For now, go and make an appearance, let the others know what you're doing. Tomorrow and noon, sharp, soldier." Grinning, d'Artagnan rolled his eyes, but nodded his head in deference as he took his leave. Treville called after him again, as he was leaving. "If your father remained anything at all like the man I knew then, he would be so proud of you, and what you have achieved. I know that I am." d'Artagnan had to take a deep breath and bite the inside of the cheek to stop the pathetic little sob that was trying to climb up his throat at the captain's heartfelt praise.

And for the first time since learning about the destruction of his father's farm and Constance's rejection, he found himself looking forward to tomorrow, and the stories it would bring.

_Reviews make me smile, even if just for a little while :)_


	50. Artemis or Apollo, I Will Follow

A/N: This was a les mis AU drabble I wrote for someone on tumblr, I do hope you enjoy

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><p>Ninon was a charming young woman, capable of being terrible. She was angelically beautiful. She was Artemis wild. And she was, also, for the purpose of the revolution, disguising herself as a man. She hated to lie to her brothers in arms, but told herself that it was necessary for the cause. She had never been particularly "buxom" (and oh, how she hated that word) and it was a simple matter to secure her breasts so that they did not show.<p>

She was not deceiving her men, she merely neglected to correct them when they assumed that she was a man. It made her feel powerful, that they hung on her every word (and her speeches were a work of art - she devoted entire nights to them on some occasions) and their eyes did not devour her as they would if they knew the truth. Or they would accuse her of witchcraft, as if they had not chosen to listen to her and join the cause of their own free will.

But there was one mystery that she had yet to solve, and that was the drunkard who sat in the corner. He never spoke except to disagree with her, and when she spoke he listened in rapt attention, as one entranced.

"Athos, put the bottle down." She told him, and received only a scowl for her trouble.

"Wine is the balm for all ills - kindly Bacchus' gift to us all. Leave me to my drink, oh fairest Apollo." She snorted at his words - she could hardly help herself.

"I am no Apollo, and for all your claim as being a Skeptic, there must be something you believe in. It is no way to live, drowning in a bottle - you could achieve great things."

"I have achieved a great many things, but none of any importance. We do not all share your radiant light." Ninon scoffed, but said nothing, only looked out the window of the Cafe Musain.

"The people will rise. They must."

"Your idealism will get you killed."

"Then why do you stay?" She demanded, and in her frustration, her voice had gone up what felt like an octave. She froze, praying that he hadn't noticed.

"I told you already, cherie." Her eyes widened, and all Athos did was knock back another swig of his bottle. "I believe in you - whatever form you may take, be you Apollo or Artemis, Hermes or Aphrodite. But I rather think you're Pallas Athena, because you seem to be preparing for war." He set the empty bottle down on the table and sauntered out of the room.

Ninon watched him go in an odd mix of disgust and desire. The part of her that was the leader of the revolution, named Enjolras by his fellows, did not acknowledge the existence of that man beyond the fact he was an annoyance. But the part of her that was a woman told her to go after him and kiss him in the street. Torn between her two halves, she watched him go, half reaching out as if to ask him to wait.

But there was no time for romance, she reminded herself, because it was her duty to liberate the people of France from oppression and tyranny. And she was beginning to understand that it was his to follow her wherever her goals may lead, even to death and glory.

_Reviewers, workers, everyone, there's a river on the run, like the flowing of the tide, Paris coming to our side~_


	51. Stitches

A/N: Just a quick little thing, but I am quite fond of it, so I hope you enjoy as well.

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><p>"It doesn't seem fair," d'Artagnan mused one day as Aramis was stitching up a wound slicing across his thigh, "that you stitch us all up like this, but if the same thing happened to you, we wouldn't be able to do a damned thing."<p>

He had passed out right afterwards, but for whatever reason, the words had stuck with the older Musketeer as he had tied off the stitches and wrapped a bandage around d'Artagnan's leg. They played a quiet drumbeat in the back of his mind, becoming louder when the wounded were all tended to and he had a moment of quiet to think for himself. The mission had been simple enough in theory, and the bandits who had attacked them were clearly just opportunists as opposed to traitors to the crown, but they'd done enough damage, both to d'Artagnan and a few of the others, though thankfully, most of the wounds were not deep enough to require stitches.

Surprise surprise, d'Artagnan decided to go and be a hero and shove Aramis out of the way of someone brandishing a sword at him and one of the wounded musketeers he had been attempting to move. The wound wouldn't have been so bad if the stupid boy had just stayed still, but they were in the middle of hostile territory and they couldn't afford to slow down. They'd strapped the others to the horses and the ones who were unharmed provided cover fire.

He didn't even know d'Artagnan had been injured until they were on their horses, and he looked over and saw how pale he was. There hadn't really been much he could do about it then except to call him an idiot and tell him that he should take better care of himself. Once they returned to the garrison, however, he made quick work of the stitching, willing his hands not to shake. If the would had been half an inch deeper, it would have sliced an artery and d'Artagnan would have bled out in minutes.

That had not happened, Aramis forcefully reminded himself, as he took a deep and steadying breath and turned to take in the sight of the wounded musketeer sleeping peacefully, and took comfort in the steady rise and fall of his chest.

As he left the infirmary after thoroughly washing his hands, he found Athos and Porthos both sitting on one of the benches in the garrison courtyard, evidently having been waiting for him.

"How is d'Artagnan?" Athos inquired, "Treville told us he was injured." Aramis hummed absently and sighed.

"He's alright, but he needed stitches. He's sleeping now though, so try not to disturb him." Porthos grimaced at the mention of stitches.

"Did ya need to knock him out?" he questioned, having turned a funny shade of green.

"No, actually, he was quite quiet and well-behaved."

"That doesn't sound like d'Artagnan at all." Athos interjected with a wry smile, and Aramis shook his head.

"The wound wasn't too deep but by the time we got back, he'd lost, whilst not a dangerous amount, quite a lot of blood. I wouldn't be surprised if he's tired and lethargic for a few days while he recovers." The tension seemed to melt out of his two friends at his reassurances that their youngest would be well.

He let them go and check with their own eyes the state of the boy's health, and made his way to Serge, who had saved him a helping of vegetable soup.

"You look thoughtful again, lad. Something wrong?" The kindly old man asked, and Aramis shook his head, half-smiling.

"I just think perhaps it's time I give our youngest some lessons in triage in the field." Serge placed his plate down in front of him on the table.

"Not a bad idea. He has the hands for it. Stitched up a couple of the horses when Jacques couldn't, and he's always helpin' with broken saddles, cloths, and such like." That was news to Aramis, but welcome news. He grinned - he was going to have to pay more attention to whatever d'Artagnan did when he wasn't with the three of them.

"Well then, looks like I have more to work with than I first thought." If the boy had worked on horses before - well, they were about as flighty as injured young men had the potential to be, so yes, that was something he could definitely work with, and with a little luck, one day, perhaps d'Artagnan could be a match for his own talent with a needle.


	52. The Third Moon is A Beacon in the Cold-

**Full title: The Third Moon is a Beacon in the Cold Dark Night**

**A/N: Porthos meets Wolf!d'Art for the first time. He isn't quite so clueless**

**And yes, these have just become an excuse for gratuitous snuggle fics and I REGRET NOTHING**

**tw for a slight allusion to period typical racism**

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><p>"Flea's like you, y'know, pup."<p>

Yes, he was well aware of that, thank you very much. Porthos smelled like her everywhere, and though her scent wasn't exactly repulsive to him, the fact that she wasn't pack, and that because of that, Porthos didn't smell like pack was enough to get his hackles raised, which in turn earned a chuckle from the man in front of him.

"Yes, her reaction was pretty similar to that. Though it was more exasperation that I hadn't figured it out. And I'm sitting here, kicking myself, because it should have been so obvious - especially after Athos and Aramis both mentioned a tame wolf coming to them and comforting them. How I didn't even think that maybe you were a were, I don't know." Well, it just sounded like Porthos knew that he was a werewolf, not that he was d'Artagnan, which was promising, but he couldn't hope that it would last forever.

"We know you, don't we?" He asked softly, reaching out to scratch behind d'Artagnan's chin - Dieu, that was heavenly. So much so, in fact, that he let out a very satisfied sound that was almost a purr. Porthos chuckled, and he sent a half-hearted glare at the man.

"Nothing to be embarrassed about, pup. It's a wolf thing, right? Though I have to say, I've never heard of there being a werewolf from Gascony, before."

D'Artagnan suddenly felt very cold, and he tripped over his paws as he backed up against the wall in his panic, frantically searching for an escape route. Porthos cursed under his breath, and made very slow, deliberate movements towards d'Artagnan.

"Hey, hey, shh, it's alright. It's okay. I thought you knew I knew it was you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out like that." The wolf stopped searching for an exit, but he kept his ears flat against his head and his teeth bared, since the shock and the fear he had felt at the revelation still hadn't quite passed. Porthos, rather wisely, didn't reach out to touch him again, just waited until he relaxed further.

"You good now? Mary and sweet baby Jesus, d'Artagnan, you're worse than a flighty mare in a storm." d'Artagnan growled, but it was more playful than threatening. "I mean it," he continued, "And I get why you don't announce it to all and sundry - but don't you know you can trust us?" His voice was so earnest and sad that d'Artagnan had to look away in shame. Of course he trusted all of them, with his life - but how could he ever trust anyone with his secret? He'd watched his mother kill the only person who had ever found out about them, because it was that or be hunted and hated for the rest of their lives.

Porthos sighed and shook his head, before reaching out and grabbing the wolf under his elbows, forcing d'Artagnan to meet his eyes.

"Fine, I probably don't understand what goes on in that furry brain of yours, you daft whelp, but I do know what it's like to be treated different because people think you're less of a person than them for something beyond your control. Skin colour, lycanthropy - don't make one ounce of difference, mutt. We misfits gotta stick together, alright?"

The whine which d'Artagnan let out was such a pathetic and terrified little noise that Porthos set him back down. "I won't tell the others about this, you idiot - you have your reasons, I'm sure. I've seen what some people tried to do to Flea when they found out what she was, and I know why you're scared - but Aramis and Athos, d'Artagnan - do you really think they'd hate you for nothing more than the skin you were born with?" And d'Artagnan wanted very much at that moment to change back and tell Porthos that it wasn't the same thing, at least he was human.

But he stopped and thought about it for the moment, and realised that it was. It was exactly the same thing. Those in power - like that judge, who he was very well going to bite the hands off of and rip out his throat, if he ever got the chance - were always going to step on those who they thought beneath them. Huffing an exhausted sigh, he approached Porthos this time, who smiled approvingly when the boy nuzzled his head under his arm, wanting nothing more than to be close and safe.

"There now, that's more like it" Porthos told him quietly, and let d'Artagnan get himself all settled, with his paws tucked underneath him before grabbing the blanket off of the bed and wrapping them both in it, placing an arm carefully against the wolf's side. D'Artagnan happily pressed closer against Porthos, glad of the warmth and simple comfort of touch. Part of him achingly wished that the others would join them and they would all be safe in one place where he could watch over and protect them, but for now, he was the one feeling protected, in the arms of someone whose strength could tear apart a man as well as any wolf's claws, and he melted into that embrace, letting himself truly and utterly surrender to the protection he found.

"Used to sleep like this as kids, Charon, Flea n' me. Was the only way t' keep warm. I kinda missed it" He listened to Porthos's words with quiet gratitude, recognising it as an invitation to spend the night like this whenever either of them might need it, and it warmed him from his nose to the tip of his tail, that he could be so welcomed.

They said nothing further, and slept peacefully through the night - though d'Artagnan's dreams that night did involve a rather terrifying army of melons.


	53. Friends And Enemies - but with wings

_A/N: I was inspired to write a wingfic for this fandom by Moonrose91 on AO3 because hers are so great. And damnit this was supposed to be fluffy but then Athos appeared and so that couldn't happen. Also the lines which I used from the episode are from memory so don't maim me if they're not quite right_

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><p>At For as long as Aramis could remember, Athos' wings had been black as charcoal, and the feathers skewed and out of place, as if they had been burned. He kept them close (though very likely, he did not even know he was doing so, as most people seemed unaware of their wings. Aramis wondered why God had gifted -or cursed- only him with such a sight on more than one occasion.) and he kept them tucked away, as if trying to shield them from further harm. It was because of Athos that Aramis had really studied anyone's wings in any detail, seeing as his were so unusual.<p>

On more than one occasion, he gave in to his own wing's urge to wrap around the broken man and keep him from all that could hurt him. But that was only ever when both of them were drunk enough that they could pretend that they had no memory of what happened in the morning - neither of them could commit to the other like that, Athos too damaged, Aramis needing to spread his wings, but it was a comfort whilst it lasted.

But then came d'Artagnan, his wings spread wide and high and proud for the world to see, making a proud (though completely misplaced) challenge to Athos.

"Now that's the way to make an entrance"

There was also, admittedly, him wanting to kill Athos, which made Aramis want to laugh, because look at this boy, with the wings of a dove, promising violence instead of peace. His wings flutter in amusement briefly .

But before long, there is Madame Bonacieux breaking up the fight, and calling them all children - she is a lark, and her wings are spread as if to shield d'Artagnan from their advances. It's then that he realises, that it clicks into place, that their wings are an extension of their souls.

Then Athos is arrested, and it is a race against time to save him. Aramis didn't even think about it before inviting d'Artagnan to join them, after all, he is a boy who believes in justice, and what is right - now that he knows Athos did not kill his father, he will help them find who did, in reality.

But by God, finding that the red guards had stolen the uniforms of the Musketeers who were missing nearly killed him - especially when they found them out in the cold, shot down like animals - SavoySavoySavoy was a constant mantra, until Porthos' wings extended to brush with his own, and he calmed.

"If you want justice for your father, d'Artagnan, help us to clear Athos' name" The boy, to his credit, folded his wings and accepted Aramis' words, though his eyes rested somewhere just past Aramis' face. There wasn't time to think of it any more, until they found the red guard who Porthos won a dubloon from.

Aramis could see that d'Artagnan was uneasy with their interrogation techniques, but that didn't matter as much as finding what they needed to know. But God, how intimidating the boy would be if others could see him as Aramis did - as his wings curl threateningly above him when demanding to know who killed his father, they would cower before him, this avenging angel, seeking truth and justice through blood and sword. Porthos manhandled the boy away before he could kill the Red Guard, and he looked for all the world like a kicked puppy.

Aramis knew that d'Artagnan was going to charge in even before he began to speak. His target was right there before him, and nothing was going to stand in the way of his vengeance. His wings weren't tucked like they should be if he was trying for stealth, and Aramis despaired of ever teaching the boy patience. Perhaps Athos would have better luck with that.

"d'Artagnan! We need him alive!" The boy's wings flapped furiously in indignation, and honestly, Aramis sympathised, but now was not the time. They had to clear Athos' name, and they needed Gaudet for that.

But, apparently not, because Gaudet tried to kill d'Artagnan, and Aramis only had a second to warn the boy. Thankfully, it was enough to save his life, and the boy got to wet his blade with the blood of his father's killer.

There was a moment of despair for Aramis, however, because they had just lost their best evidence against the Cardinal's claims of Athos' guilt.

But Porthos saved the day by finding the uniforms. And they still had Dujon's confession, of course. He could just about have kissed Porthos in joy just then, but for the soft sob he heard from d'Artagnan.

He looked over and what he saw made his heart bleed for the boy. His wings drooped, and his eyes were dark and tired - they lacked the spark, the fire that had likely been the only thing which had kept him moving these past days. The lovely Madame Bonacieux had already walked ahead, ready to return home, but d'Artagnan stood staring into space, obviously at a loss now that the only purpose he'd set himself in the wake of his father's passing was fulfilled. He placed a gentle hand on the boy's back, just where wing met skin, and stroked the feathers soothingly, which caused d'Artagnan to look up sharply. Ah. That was what that look earlier had meant - d'Artagnan could see them too. He decided to leave that realisation alone for now, and instead continue with the comfort.

"Come with us, see Athos freed and justice done, then you can decide what to do with the rest of your life, alright?" d'Artagnan nodded, and there was no further time to waste, if they were to save Athos from the noose.

When they are at the tavern, Aramis wanted to make quite sure d'Artagnan had a place to stay, since it seemed he would be with Paris, and if he had anything to do with it, with them for the foreseeable future. He smiled softly when the boy's gaze kept shifting to Athos, and he mutters something about a woman who died, but that's not really why the boy is looking, and both of them know it.

Though why the boy looked as if he was determined to fix it, Aramis didn't know. But he hoped that d'Artagnan had better luck than the rest of them at mending Athos' broken wings and heart.


	54. An Unexpected Brother

A/N: Okay so not only is this an AU of an AU, it's an AU of someone else's AU. The Forgotten Nobody has some great fics where d'Artagnan had a little brother who died, and in this story, he's not dead. Set during The Challenge. Also it probably got a bit emotional because my brother just came home after a two week trip today and I really missed him.

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><p>D'Artagnan froze when Treville told him of his farm - completely destroyed. That didn't matter right now, because all that was going through his head right then was "Please let Mathieu be alive". The Captain noted his distress and smiled sadly. The Gascon's heart was in his throat - what did that even mean? Why was he smiling?<p>

"There's a young lad here to see you. He's waiting outside". D'Artagnan sucked in and let out a breath he didn't realise he had been holding at that news, and sagged back against the wall.

"Oh thank God. I-" Treville waved whatever rambling was about to begin dismissively

"You're dismissed, d'Artagnan. If you can find the money somehow, I would be more than happy to let you try out for the contest." He gave Treville little more than a swift nod before he was out the door and running back down to where Athos and a lanky fifteen year old are having a staring competition. Aramis and Porthos are watching and taking bets, but both Athos and the boy turn to d'Artagnan at the same time.

The boy runs towards him and lunges into a hug. Mathieu had always been an enthusiastic child, but now his brother welcomed it and closed the hug firmly, throat tight and eyes stinging. He held onto that boy for all he was worth because for a moment he thought he would never be able to hold him again.

"I'm so glad you're alright" he said into Mathieu's ear, his voice cracking with emotion and fear and relief. "When Treville said the farm was, that Labarge had- I was so scared." He blinked back the onslaught of tears. "I thought, I thought-" Mathieu shushed him and held him closer, and the only thing that was keeping him upright was his brother more or less holding him up. "I thought I'd lost you too, for one horrible, horrible second, and it was like that day with the bandits all over again."

"You're never letting that one go, are you, Charlie?" Mathieu teased, but his voice was soft, and d'Artagnan buried his head in his brother's shoulder, just glad to have him close.

Then he heard the soft clearing of a throat, and remembered that his friends were here and reluctantly untangled himself from his brother's arms.

"Oh. Sorry. Mathieu, these are my friends. This is Porthos-" He gestured to said man, who gave a small wave and a smile, "never play cards with him, he cheats"

"That's slander!" Porthos decreed, overplaying the insult just enough to make the boy laugh, which d'Artagnan was grateful for.

"It's only slander if it's not true, Porthos dear" Aramis teased, and held out his hand for Mathieu to shake, which he did so. "My name is Aramis, and it is a pleasure to meet you."

"You might think he's charming now, but just wait till you spend five minutes with him. He spends most of his free time fleeing jilted husbands." Aramis apparently took that as a compliment, because he beamed.

"And this is Athos" he said finally, gesturing to the man who was sitting frowning at them. Mathieu looked from Athos to Charles and then back again.

"The one you talk about so much in your letters?" d'Artagnan bit back an embarrassed groan even as he felt his cheeks flaring red.

"Why do I even let you open your mouth?" He lamented, and watched Mathieu grin in reply. Athos quirked an eyebrow at their antics.

"And what does he say of me in these letters?" He asked, faintly suspicious. But Mathieu beamed.

"Well, in the first letter he sent he explained about how he tried to kill you because he thought you killed Papa-"

"Wait- papa?" Aramis asked, suddenly thrown. Mathieu frowned.

"Why does no one ever guess that we're brothers? I'd have guessed, if I were you guys, but you're clearly all idiots." Mathieu huffed indignantly, folding his arms and pouting - ah, now there was the resemblance.

"Mathieu, please stop calling my friends idiots" d'Artagnan's tone was fond, but bordering on exasperated.

-"but after that he mainly just waxed lyrical about how amazing he thinks you are, what a great man, proud to be your friend, etc. Real boring mushy sort of stuff that I skim before he gets to the good parts about the adventures." Mathieu continued answering Athos' question as if he hadn't been interrupted. D'Artagnan despaired of ever being taken seriously by his friends again, if Mathieu kept going this way.

"And he looks familiar, anyway, this Athos fellow" he continued, frowning thoughtfully.

"You know, the one with the horse called Milady who nearly ran me over?" D'Artagnan paled. He knew he'd heard the name Milady before he had ever met that woman. "Don't you think he looks like Olivier? Just a little bit?"

Athos cleared his throat rather pointedly, and d'Artagnan took that as his cue to attempt to shut up the idiot.

"Maybe. I don't really remember that, asides from the fact mother nearly killed us all for being late for dinner."

"She misses you, by the way." Mathieu cut in, either not realising that his brother just purposely made him change the subject or going along with it before Porthos or Aramis could pick up on it.

"She's alright, then?" d'Artagnan asked as another wave of relief washed over him.

"Think she would have taken on Labarge with her walking stick if Uncle Remy had let her." d'Artagnan snorted.

"She would have won, too. Remember that time when-"

"She walloped the living daylights out of Aunt Rita's husband? How could I forget?" He shuddered. "Man never even threatened to raise a hand to her again, she said."

"Good. If he did Ma would have cut them off."

"Maybe not just his hands, either." Mathieu added with a wiggle of his eyebrows, startling Aramis into laughter from where he had been watching them interact.

D'Artagnan had always been lively and bright with them, but in his brother's presence he shone like the sun. His laughter was lighter, and it was only now that any of them realised just how much of an effect his father's death had had on him, if this was his more usual behaviour at home. Though now he did suddenly look stricken by some ill thought.

"She's going to kill me, isn't she?" he asked his brother, who shook his head fondly.

"Oh, now why would you think that?"

"Because I haven't visited once since- since-" his voice caught in his throat, unable to voice the words.

"Nah, she gets it. It's fine. Really, honest truth, she's okay with it. Oh and by the way we've moved to Paris, seeing as the farm's gone. Rita's a widow now, so we're staying with her."

"Right, right. That's- that's good. You're safe, you're both safe, you've got somewhere to stay."

"That's right, so stop worrying, okay? Big boy now, I can take care of myself, right?"

"You can't even hold a sword properly, let alone swing it - how is that being able to take care of yourself?"

"Dieu! Nothing ever changes, does it, you big mother hen, you. Always with the swords and the fighting. You never would have stayed at the farm at all, would you?" it was an old argument, and one that d'Artagnan helped d'Artagnan regain a sense of balance, of knowing his place in the world. No matter what else happened, he would always be Mathieu's big brother, and as long as he had that, even if everything burned to ashes around them, everything would be alright.

They made conversation for another five minutes or so before Treville called on them to stop slacking and get back to training, and Mathieu made his excuses and ran for home. Oh how absurdly glad he was that the idiot would be in Paris so that he could check in far more easily, and face to face rather than through letters. He watched until his shadow disappeared around a corner and sighed.

Then he turned to find that all three friends, who were all looking at him rather judgementally, with arms folded and stern frowns.

"So how come we never got to know about your kid brother?" Porthos questioned, and it felt more like an interrogation with

"What, and you all so readily volunteer information about your pasts?" d'Artagnan snapped back at him haughtily, glaring at each one of them in turn, Athos for longest. "It's not like I'm the only one here who's ever kept a secret." He told them pointedly. "And I distinctly remember having to keep them for some of you, so you lecture me about this, you get a black eye, alright?"

"A rather high opinion of your hand to hand there, squirt" Porthos interjected, "seeing as I taught you all I know". Aramis, however, sighed, waving his hand flippantly.

"very well, then, we shan't lecture you or hold a ridiculous grudge, as fun as that would be - how about we get some questions?" D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow and signalled to him to continue, "about your brother, that is."

After a long moment of debating internally, d'Artagnan sighed and nodded, seeing as this seemed the only way to get them all off of his back.

"Fine, one question each." He allowed them. "Porthos, you first."

"Why'd you never mention him?" it was the most obvious question, but he didn't quite know how to answer it.

"I... I don't really know. I suppose at first it was because I didn't know you all that well, and then, over time it just became easier not to say anything. And..." he paused, trying to find the right words to convey his meaning, "I guess since our lives are so dangerous, in my mind, I wanted to keep him separate from that - to keep him safe. I guess it sounds idiotic when I say it out loud, but it made sense in my head." The other three watched as he kept his eyes on the floor when answering the question, and they shared a look of understanding.

"I get it, kid, it makes sense, wanting to keep your family safe." there was a heavy silence which Aramis decided to break.

"Since you have so callously declined the offer of my teachings, may I-"

"No!" D'Artagnan cut him off before he could speak any further. "You are not teaching my brother your ways, the last thing he needs is to be chased around by jealous husbands or lovers. I won't let you corrupt him."

Now it was Athos' turn, and he looked to be slowly deliberating on his question, before deciding finally on one which pleased him.

"What was this incident with bandits that your brother mentioned?" d'Artagnan turned suddenly sheet white.

"Dieu, Athos. Don't- I. No." Athos was shocked by the adamant refusal which this request had gained him. He watched as d'Artagnan backed away from him on stumbling feet. He had asked perhaps in spite of the fact that d'Artagnan knew about Thomas, and yet had said nothing of his own brother, but if he had known that asking would reduce the boy to something trembling and wide eyed like this.

Aramis knew that look and decided immediately that it did not belong on d'Artagnan. He knelt down so that he was eye level with their young friend, who had ended up backing into the bench and falling down to sit on it in his panic.

"Wherever your mind is right now, you are not there. It's not real." He whispered, and when d'Artagnan's eyes started to clear, he risked putting a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "Alright now?" Unable to speak, d'Artagnan nodded. He risked a glance up at Athos, who looked slightly horrified with himself. The Gascon shrugged off Aramis' arm, comforting as it was, and turned to leave. He couldn't stay there right now - so he would just have to find someone more deserving to take out his anger on - who better than the man who destroyed his childhood home?


	55. The Caged Wren

_A/N: this was written a while ago and posted on AO3. I just kind of forgot about posting it here, but here it is now and I hope you enjoy_

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><p><em>A wren is a bird that cannot be caged<em>

He cannot help but snort at Ninon's words.

"Can't it?" he asks her. "Can't it be caged by flowers and tricks and pretty lies?" All of his friends, including Athos, turn to stare at him, but he only narrows his eyes and shakes his head.

"Why would you ask such a thing?" Ninon asks, her gaze sharp and curious. D'Artagnan both wants to answer her and doesn't. So he merely rubs at his wrist - it's always been covered, and Ninon's eyes light up.

"Is your mark a wren in a cage, little Gascon? How fascinating - perhaps a free spirit trapped in life they do not want-." The other women look at him curiously as Ninon rambles on. And one of them - one of them is _her_, with the flowers and the pretty lies. Athos hasn't seen her yet, but d'Artagnan knows it is the same one who trapped him in that cage. The three Musketeers are watching him closely. He can't give away that he's seen her.

"I rather think that is my own business, Madame, and you are being rude. " Ninon, surprisingly considering her reputation, backs off and has the grace to look sheepish.

"I shall give you a tour of my home, Monsieur Athos, if it will assuage your suspicions." She placates eventually. D'Artagnan watches out of the corner of his eye as the woman who framed him for murder leaves hurriedly. Perhaps she has guessed, and he will find his throat slit tonight.

Athos notices his jumpiness when he returns from Ninon's home.

"Something troubling you, d'Artagnan."

"You remember I mentioned on that first night I met a woman?"

"Yes, I remember." Athos concedes, and he sounds oddly bereaved. "Is she your wren?" d'Artagnan stares at him as if he has gone mad.

"She is the flower which has trapped my wren from the day he first laid eyes on her. Such pretty little flowers too." He plucks at his meal, suddenly all his appetite has left him. "First they crept up slowly, and they looked so beautiful, but they wrapped around the little wren, tighter and tighter, until they were a noose around his neck."

"You sound so sure that your wren is a man." Athos points out. "Why is that?"

"I wouldn't have figured it out at all, if it weren't for the forget-me-nots she left behind. I remembered that in the portrait, she was holding some. Oh, if only I'd seen her face then, we could have saved ourselves so much trouble."

"You're saying that-"

"It's you, Athos, it's always been you." He stretches his wrist out, and Athos undoes the ties on the bracelet. It falls away to reveal a wren, but now it is tearing down the walls of forget-me-knots. He couldn't help himself - he reached forward and kisses d'Artagnan full on the lips. The younger man makes a noise of surprise that is soon replaced by an appreciative groan. He still pullsaway, though he is grinning.

"We are in public." He hisses under his breath. "And we are going to have to deal with what to do about your murderous wife who is going to frame Ninon for witchcraft, most likely."

"That can wait," Athos argues, although they both know it cannot, if an innocent woman's life is to be spared. For a moment, though, they revel in the fact that they have found each other at last.

D'Artagnan later finds out (once all the messes involving Milady and the Cardinal are straightened out) that the Mark which Athos bears is a horse, galloping across his chest. Fitting, considering the way he had stampeded into his life, he comments, and d'Artagnan laughs as he traces the outline of the horses' head, marvelling at the way the creature seems to curl possessively around the man's heart. He and it are in agreement, then. Athos should be protected at all costs. D'Artagnan's Mark is no longer held down by ropes of forget-me-nots, and has moved to settle over the scar left by Athos' bullet, covering it from view.

His wren will never be caged again, not if he can help it.


	56. The Prince's Guards

A/N: this is not in any way new, but I seem to have forgotten to post it here as well as on AO3, as well as about ten others, so over the next little while I shall be posting these so that you guys can see them too. After that, I'm going to complete the werewolf AU and once that is done I will probably mark this series as complete, and any future one-shots shall simply be separate stories. However I might still post a drabble here from time to time.

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><p>A steward came out to greet them as they dismounted their horses. Aramis handed the man the reins to the animals and both he and d'Artagnan made their way to where Their Majesties had requested them for an audience. Neither of them had any idea what exactly they were being requested for, or why the King was so adamant that they arrive in absolute secrecy.<p>

When they appeared in the throne room, both monarchs smiled benevolently down upon them, and Louis beckoned them closer.

"Oh, come come, you silly fellows. We are all friends here - come closer, you'll do your backs in if you stay bowed like that. Of course, We are much more important than you, but Anne says it's polite to pretend otherwise, and I suppose she would know such things."

"Louis, dear. They still look rather confused." His wife pointed out gently. "Perhaps we should explain?"

Aramis and d'Artagnan just shared a look and each felt as baffled as the other.

"As you know, our son is soon to be born." Aramis stopped himself from any reaction beyond a nod, and hoped d'Artagnan wouldn't notice any change. "And as such, he will need a personal guard. But my dear wife and I are rather at odds with who it should be. And thus, here you both are."

d'Artagnan took a sharp breath in shock, and stood suddenly to attention.

"Your Majesty?" Louis grinned, enjoying the stunned look upon his Musketeer's face.

"You were my choice, d'Artagnan. I have witnessed your bravery and loyalty with my own eyes, and Treville tells wondrous stories that I am quite sure are all true." A deep blush brightened d'Artagnan's cheeks as he bowed at the compliment. "However, my dear Anne wishes your friend Aramis to be our son's personal guard, as he defended her so fiercely from those awful assassins." He paused, looking between them, "So what is it to be? Which of you shall protect the heir to the throne of France?"

d'Artagnan and Aramis met each other's eyes and nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"We both will."


	57. Golden Flowers Strewn About The Fields

A/N: Because who can resist a dragon AU? Again, this is an old thing I had forgotten to post.

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><p>Charles isn't quite sure what to make of his egg when it hatches. It's ma and pa are his ma and pa's dragons - pa's is an earthy sort of green, and matches him in his down to earth, practical nature, and they both have deep, throaty laughs.<p>

Ma's dragon is elegant, with a long slender neck which she sometimes lets hims stroke when they sit by the fire together. She is grey and quiet, and some might think her plain - but those are only the ones who never hear her sing. Her and Ma both have the most beautiful voices, and the lower half of Helga's wings are covered with feathers.

They are quiet and happy and Charles loves them almost as much as he does his parents.

He is very happy when, at five years old, they bestow upon him the honour of naming their egg. It is a very plain egg, grey and speckled with green spots, but he watches and waits, thinking every day that it might hatch.

It takes a month, but it does so - and he is stunned to find the newborn, only the size of a kitten, but gleaming gold, with wings so well proportioned that she might actually be able to fly one day - a rarity amongst dragons now, and when he lifts his hand to touch her and she purs against his hand, the gleam of her scales reflect onto his palm, and he knows what he wants her name to be.

"Buttercup."

She chews his fingers with a gummy mouth before crawling up his arm and onto his head, making a little nest in his hair. He feels the tingling in his palm that his parents once told him was the sign, and he knows that they are bonded forever. And one day, when the both of them were old enough, they were going to soar.


	58. Melancholia

A/N: A little Milady introspection is fun in a dark kind of way - hope you enjoy.

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><p>Her descents into melancholia were infrequent, but she felt them as keenly as she had ever felt the rope around her pale and delicate throat. She tried to ignore it most of the time - she was strong, with a heart of ice and Hell's fire in her eyes. She melted down the Comtesse de la Fere and re-forged herself as Milady de Winter. She used the name as her armour and her weapon, hard and sharp and inspiring fear in the hearts of men. She was strong, numbed to Hell's horrors and devoid of emotion. She was fierce, and she was free.<p>

Except when she wasn't. The times when she laid down her head and closed her eyes and remembered a beautiful home, where there was nothing between her and her husband but love. They could have had a child by now. A girl, with her curls and Olivier's eyes. Heaven help them if she inherited her father's shaggy locks.

Damn Thomas and his meddling. Damn that boy, and damn his love for his brother. Damn Olivier's love for him. Damn them, damn them both, she wanted to scream. All she had wanted was a new start. She wanted to leave her past behind. She wanted Thomas to understand that, she had tried to explain, but he threatened to tell Olivier - and he would never look at her again if he knew.

Not that it had mattered, in the end. Olivier knew that she killed Thomas, and the look on his face had been so much worse than anything she had imagined in her nightmares. And then he couldn't even watch. He wouldn't do her the dignity of holding her gaze as she died. The wretch - the coward! How dare he? After all that she had sacrificed to keep their love alive?

There were no more perfect days for Anne de Breuille. There were only perfect murders for Milady de Winter.

Milady de Winter might be a monster, but she was one of Olivier de la Fere's own making. And there might be days when her heart ached with the lack of him, but he would never earn his wife's forgiveness. The Comtesse de la Fere died choking on her husband's love in a field of forget-me-nots, a long time ago.


	59. Knights Take Bishop, As Ordered By Queen

A/N: I started so many different versions of in-between leaving the convent and arriving at the palace. this was one I was quite fond of.

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><p>"What was that you were on about earlier - you said you smelled jasmine? In the money lender's office?" Porthos asked d'Artagnan, who nodded. Athos looked at him with interest.<p>

"Oh?"

"Yes, and I saw the flash of a dress in the mirror. If it's who I think it is, then I've met her before." Porthos looked interested, whilst Athos looked mortified.

"Remember that night after I'd first met you all, I mentioned-"

"The most beautiful woman you had ever seen?"

"Right" d'Artagnan agreed. Athos looked stricken, as if someone had stabbed him in the gut. "She... Uh. That is, we slept together, and I woke to find that she'd killed the man in the next room and framed me for it. After that, she just kept showing up. With Vadim, she killed two Red Guards who were chasing me, and told me... What was it - "If you choose the Musketeers, you choose oblivion. After it was all done with, I- Athos, are you alright?"

"Am I alright? You slept with my wife, and you are asking if I am alright?" Aramis cringed at the tone in his friend's voice, which to him was starkly reminiscent of his I cannot believe you slept with the Queen line, and he was just about ready to step between the two.

Now it was d'Artagnan's turn to turn white as a sheet - and maybe a little green. "I- she- oh god. I slept with your wife. I didn't know, Athos, I swear, I didn't know." Athos deflated a little at his words, and nodded, rubbing his face tiredly with one hand.

"Of course you didn't know. She was manipulating you. It's what she does - you would hardly be the first man she has deceived, lad." D'Artagnan had a moment of foolish hope that perhaps she had somehow frightened Constance into renouncing him, but he pushed that aside, since it would only distract him. "And she works for the Cardinal." He told them all.

"So the Cardinal wanted the Queen assassinated?" Aramis asked, and Athos nodded.

"Yes, it would appear so."

"But why would Armand wish my death?" Queen Anne interjected solemnly. Athos sighed and shook his head.

"Is it not obvious? Because he believes he is the only one who should hold any influence over Louis - why have a queen who has her own agency when he can bring a puppet of his own into play - that and, well, the lack of an heir, in his opinion, makes France weak and unstable." He explained, and though the queen was thoroughly shocked by such news, she held herself admirably. She stood up straight and looked thoroughly regal and commanding, every inch the fiery princess of Spain she had been in her youth.

"I would ask a boon of you gentlemen - that you give me a part to play in that man's downfall. I want to see his face when I bring him to his knees, and make him beg God for a mercy I find myself at present lacking." Treville, who had been silent up to now, nodded his head and bowed.

"As my Queen commands." And that was how it was that they began to plot Richelieu's doom, and along with it, that of Athos' murderess wife.


	60. The Beginnings of A Plan

A/N: Another version of a missing scene between leaving in episode 9

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><p>"Athos!" he turned and saw d'Artagnan making his way up to him, seeming worried about something.<p>

"I need to talk to you." It sounded almost like he wanted to confess something - and wasn't that ominous?  
>"What is it?" He asked mildly, eyes searching the Gascon's face. He was concerned to find fear there, and nervousness.<br>"I... Those flowers. I've seen them before" There was stunned silence from everyone, except the Queen, who smiled at him encouragingly.  
>"When?" She asked, seeing that no one else seemed able to find their voice, Athos especially.<p>

"I... After the mission with Vadim." he looked up at Athos guiltily. "She calls herself Milady de Winter. Apparently she frightened Const- Madame Bonacieux. She left those flowers on my bed. And that was after she saved me from those red Guards and then told me that if I chose the Musketeers, I chose oblivion". All of them gasped in shock at the obvious threat that the woman had made to d'Artagnan, and Athos looked mortified

"d'Artagnan," he scolded the Gascon gently, "There was no way you could have known who she was." The Gascon shook his head. "But that wasn't the first time I met her. That was the night before I met any of you." His admission, and its' implications rang heavily in the silence that followed. When Athos spoke, his voice was deceptively calm  
>"You slept... With my wife?" That's when d'Artagnan knew he was a dead man.<br>"Gentlemen!" The queen hissed, in a voice which would not tolerate disobedience. Everyone froze, and even Athos paused in his lunge towards d'Artagnan.

"Did you have any idea who this woman was?" She asked, and the boy shook his head, still staring, terrified, over to where Porthos was restraining Athos and Aramis was trying to calm him down.

"He had no idea she was married, Athos. Let alone to you." D'Artagnan made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.  
>"I knew she loved a man, and he tried to kill her. That was all she told me. I might have also... Promised to kill you?" he said this last sheepishly, and refused to meet his eyes.<p>

Athos had calmed significantly enough now that he could see the truth behind d'Artagnan's words, and he took a deep breath, nodding. Porthos tentatively let him go.  
>"I assume you weren't telling me all this in the hope of dying - so why?" he asked, and d'Artagnan grinned.<br>"She trusts me. We can work with that. Use it to our advantage." Athos looked thoughtful, but Aramis and Porthos had seen that look on the boy's face before. The one that came before one of his ridiculous plans. Ones that nearly killed him.

"What do you propose?" Athos asked. D'Artagnan grinned.  
>"First, you'll need to get drunk - very drunk. Then, you'll take Milady hostage. Then I'll step in to save her and you'll shoot me. We can then use her to get to the Cardinal, and trick him into confessing his crimes before Her Majesty." The looks of blank shock and the outright refusal which was on Athos' lips died when Queen Anne touched his shoulder gently.<p>

"You are a brave young man, Monsieur d'Artagnan. My husband certainly knew what he was doing when he bestowed your commission." she told him, smiling sadly. "You would risk much, but I believe your plan has merit."  
>"All I risk is my own life, Your Majesty, which is not overly dear to me" he shrugged.<br>"It is to some of the rest of us, you damned fool!" Athos hissed at him, grabbing him by the lapels of his shirt "I refuse to lose another brother to that woman."

The silence that followed -this- declaration was deafening. But d'Artagnan only had eyes for Athos, and that fierce, burning, protective gaze in his eyes nearly brought him to his knees, and he pulled his own arms around his friend. Athos froze at the unexpected embrace, still shaking. "I beg you, do not ask this of me, d'Artagnan." His voice was hoarse and his hands shook as he kept them fisted in d'Artagnan's shirt and as he bent his head forward, their foreheads touched.

"Don't you dare talk about throwing your life away so easily, ever, ever again" He whispered, and not daring to speak, d'Artagnan nodded, and they both fell to their knees, holding each other close and whispering desperate apologies to each other. They only broke apart when Treville cleared his throat. They immediately jumped up to their feet and stood to attention.

"Well, gentlemen - it appears a few explanations are in order."


	61. Fragility

A/N: Some Athos introspection and his thoughts on d'Artagnan

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><p>He couldn't believe how close he was letting the boy get. It hardly helped that Porthos and Aramis were already treating him as if he were some long lost kid brother - that was doing the opposite of helping. If they'd just sent the stubborn Gascon pup on his way, his emotions wouldn't be in this mess. And then they had to go and encourage him, even going so far as to counsel Athos to trust the boy with the Vadim plan. And where had that gotten him? Nearly killed, that's what. He'd had a head wound, luckily with no lasting damage, and the skin around his wrists he had torn whilst trying to get out of the ropes which had been tying him to barrels of gunpowder. God, what had Treville been thinking, sending in an untrained whelp to do the job of a soldier, or a spy?<p>

He wondered if d'Artagnan even knew the meaning of the word self-preservation. His bright smiles and the way he made easy friends of nearly everyone he met was so heartbreakingly like Thomas that it physically pained him - oh god, when he had thought d'Artagnan was dead, his heart had felt torn in two - just when had the boy gotten past the walls that he'd built around himself to prevent that from happening? And to make matters worse, the idiot was set on becoming a Musketeer - didn't he have a farm to be getting back to? Didn't he have responsibilities, now that his father was dead and gone? Athos supposed he could remind the boy of that, but it didn't feel right. Not when the other two would defend the boy against his words, and not when he himself had run away from his responsibilities as Comte de la Fere. All that would be left of that place were memories, and perhaps, though the boy's would be fond memories, they would be more difficult to face now that such a large part of them was gone.

And what helped the least, was the fact that every time he looked at d'Artagnan, and his youth and his inexperience, he saw a flash of Thomas in something that he did – in the way his eyes flashed if someone dared to insult Madame Bonacieux, honest to God, he was going to be as much trouble as Aramis, even if it was only the one woman he was pining after. But he could hardly counsel a boy, barely twenty (younger than Thomas, still) to do away with romance, not when he had barely had his first taste of it. No, better to let him become cynical with age than to douse his fiery spirit.

That still, however, left Athos worrying about him constantly – how was he ever to keep him safe, him being so hotheaded and impulsive? It seemed an impossible task, and the line of thought was one he could not shake off. D'Artagnan was young, heart full of a thirst for justice and truth and honour. He would be just the type to confront a criminal by himself and end up with his throat slit – just like Thomas.

He hadn't even realised that his hands were shaking until he looked down at them. He really, really needed a drink right now, but there was none left in his rooms and it was too early to go to the tavern, even by his standards. He took a steadying breath and forced his trembling fingers to still. He needed to get himself together. He couldn't let the others see him like this, especially not d'Artagnan, whose eyes, when they linger on him, always seem full of admiration – though the why of it is a mystery to Athos. The others he had never told about Thomas, so they wouldn't understand why he feels this overwhelming need to keep d'Artagnan safe. They would, if he told them, but he couldn't bear it, telling them of his failure, his shame.

He hides behind the mask of doing his duty, like he always had, and it keeps him upright when all he wants to do is fall apart. The brothers he has somehow gained do not replace the one he lost, but he thinks he can keep living, if it's for their sakes.


	62. An Inn Between Paris and Gascony

A/N: Just some Athos & D'Artagnan bonding and cuddling. Because reasons.

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><p>"You didn't have to come with me, you know?" d'Artagnan murmured sleepily from where his head was cushioned by Athos' lap in front of the fire. The older man merely smiled gently, and continued to soothingly stroke a hand through his hair. Athos had noticed long ago that physical contact was something the boy craved, and he was more than willing to let him have this, if it helped him to sleep. It had been a long ride from Paris, and they still had a long way to go before Gascony, but they had found a comfortable inn to spend the night in.<p>

Athos had been careful not to leave him alone when they arrived there, because in their missions together, he had noticed how wary d'Artagnan seemed to be of inns. He would wager it had something to do with the boy's father's death, but he wasn't going to pry. If d'Artagnan wanted to tell him, he would. And if not, then he would respect that, as d'Artagnan had done so often for him.

"I wouldn't want you to have to face that alone. Nothing of the farm left to save, I'm sure you said - I can't imagine it was easy for you to even consider coming back to that. Besides which, Aramis and Porthos would do well to relearn how to be responsible adults whilst I'm gone. You are the one who always gets in trouble if left to your own devices." D'Artagnan huffed indignantly, but was too exhausted to move from where he was to glare at Athos, since they had been riding all day, and Athos had insisted on an hour of practice with swords. He had very nearly disarmed Athos, but let himself get too cocky, so he missed his chance. "And also... you saved me from the ashes of my own past, in so many ways, so how could I let you alone with yours?"

D'Artagnan smiled, and for want of a better word, snuggled beside Athos, in response to which the older Musketeer just sighed and shook his head. "You really are just a boy, still, aren't you?" he eventually remarked, once d'Artagnan's breathing had evened into that of a peaceful sleep. "You know, Thomas was only a little older than you... I miss him, still, I do. But I have you to keep an eye on now, and that's more than enough to keep me occupied..." he looked into the warm crackling flames that lit both of their faces, making the light dance on d'Artagnan's peaceful features. "And sometimes I wonder, if he's up there, watching, and if he saw fit to ask the Lord to bring us together." He sighed, and leant over to brush his lips on d'Artagnan's forehead. He didn't even stir, just pressed closer to Athos in his sleep, seeking his warmth, and the comfort of a body next to him.

"Sleep well, little brother. I don't know what awaits us at your farm, but I will not let you face it alone."


	63. Once A Knight of Camelot

A/N: Look, a Merlin crossover! how exciting! Another oldie, but yay Merlin.

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><p>The first thing Merlin knows about Charles d'Artagnan is that he too has a great destiny, and he too will serve his king. He hasn't had a vision like this in a long time, so he decides to follow the vision to the boy's homeland in Gascony. No one can see him, as he has long ago learned to cloak himself from their gaze.<p>

But when he finds the boy, it's a scene that he finds intimately familiar in a way that jolts him near a thousand years into the past. Charles is crying over his father's corpse, and it's not fair, none of it is fair. But he has walked the earth long enough to know that life never is, and that this is only the first step in the boy's long journey.

He follows him to the inn, and smiles at how snobby he is when it comes to food. He is absently reminded of when he tried to make rat stew for Arthur. It's a fond memory, but it still brings him pain, and he is distracted by that until he feels the sudden snap of a life ending and now he is fascinated by the woman. She might have been good once, he supposes, but all he can see in her is that icy coldness that once dwelt in Morgana. She and d'Artagnan share a room that night, and the boy wakes up with a dagger in a bloody pillow. He cannot stop their suspicion of d'Artagnan, he cannot interfere directly - he has learned that the hard way. But he can watch, and he is glad when he finds Constance Bonacieux, he can see their fates interweaving even as she drags him unconscious from the marketplace floor.

But it's who he sees when d'Artagnan goes to challenge the man who he thinks has killed his father (it's a different man, Merlin can see) that gives him a jolt. There, amongst the other two, is Lancelot - flirting and laughing and not at all as serious as Merlin remembers, but Lancelot all the same. That's his face, that's his voice. By now, even if he didn't have that vision, he would still be staying, if only to keep an eye on his old friend.

He can only hope that there will be no love triangles involving royalty. Though considering Lancelo- Aramis' reputation, he is not particularly hopeful of that.


	64. Flowers

A/N: Just a little d'Artagnan introspective with his thoughts on Milady and forget-me-nots. The last of my old un-posted fics :)

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><p>Girls had given him forget-me-nots long before she appeared. Back home, there had been the occasional farmer or butcher or baker's daughter who would sidle up to him and hand him them as a token. He'd always preferred daisies, if he were telling the truth. They were bright and honest flowers, he felt, like free kisses and sunshine on summer's days and forget-me-nots were all secret smiles and clandestine meetings in abandoned buildings. There was something pretentious about a flower that ordered one to keep the meeting locked in one's memory, never once letting it go.<p>

Meeting Milady de Winter changed that. The other girls who'd placed the flower in his hands on hair, they all become her in his mind's eye, plotting and scheming and flirting and slitting throats wherever they will, deadly and striking. The delicate blue flowers will always mean danger and seduction to him now.

She might be gone from Paris (she might not, who knew?), but she never leaves his thoughts for long, whether in worry or in wonder. He was glad that Athos hadn't killed her. He'd said that out loud, and Constance had looked at him, aghast, as she had every right to be. But did he mean he was glad that Athos was not forced to have her death on his conscience once more, or was he glad that she still breathed?

She had won this victory over him - she was always there, somehow. Blood red lips still promised retribution. She is no longer his guardian angel, but perhaps, perhaps she can be a protective demon?

He will never forget her, and he guessed that, wherever she was, she knew that and she would be willing to use it against him.

He wasn't quite sure he would be ready.


	65. In The Light Of The Full Moon

A/N: The penultimate part of my werewolf AU.

Full title: **In the Light of the Full Moon, We Reveal the Nature of Ourselves**

**Warning:** I've been informed by many people that this is heartbreaking and that I am a cruel person for leaving it as a cliffhanger. So stay tuned for the final part after this!

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><p>It was a mission like any other – and with Les Inseparables, that always meant trouble. Treville had sent them to investigate a reported disturbance on the outskirts of the city, where they had been unprepared to deal with an ambush by the Red Guards, brought on by the humiliation felt by the Cardinal at their deception. They had fought, of course, but the Red Guards overwhelmed them by sheer number. D'Artagnan had been shot in the thigh, and from there it went downhill. They were captured and shoved in a dungeon cell underneath an abandoned château.<p>

Athos couldn't keep his eyes off d'Artagnan's wound for very long, and when he did it was only ever for them to dart about frantically in search of some method of escape. Eventually, d'Artagnan tired of his fretting.

"Athos, listen to me. You have to go, find the others." he instructed through clenched teeth, gripping the hole in his thigh that had been caused by the pistol shot. It was still bleeding, although sluggishly, which made him think that perhaps there was some small trace of silver in the bullet, which meant Red Guards, because as their leader was a man of the cloth, it was hardly surprising that there were some precautions taken for protection against the supernatural. At any rate, he was grateful for it right now because it meant Athos wouldn't see the usual rapid rate at which he healed from anything which threatened his life. It still hurt like an angry she-wolf's bite, though.  
>"How can you even suggest-" Athos stuttered in shock, before his expression changed to one that the young Gascon had become intimately familiar with over the past year or so. His determination smelled like steel. "I won't leave you, d'Artagnan. I'll get you out of this, somehow."<p>

"Athos!" He all but growled. He needed his friend to leave, and soon, or he might actually bleed out from this wound. "I'll be alright for another hour at least. We have no idea of Aramis' or Porthos' whereabouts or condition. You need to find them Athos, we need them if anyone is getting out of this alive."

Athos frowned, and to d'Artagnan, the internal conflict felt like the tense and silent moment before a storm. Eventually, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, having begrudgingly given in to d'Artagnan's superior logic.  
>"Aramis will never forgive me for this."<br>"Aramis doesn't need to know. Here" he reached into his pocket with his blood-free hand, to pull out a key which looked remarkably similar to the one used to lock them in this dungeon in the first place. Athos gaped at him in surprise.

"How did...?"  
>"Collapsed against the guard who shoved us in here, didn't I?" He answered with a grin, and Athos could hardly help but smile.<br>"I shall have to have a word with Porthos about his teaching you his tricks" he admonished, but took the key from d'Artagnan's outstretched palm anyway. He pause a moment, taking in the sickly pallor of the boy's skin and the blood which dribbled thickly down his fingers. "Don't you dare die on me, Charles d'Artagnan, and that's an order." d'Artagnan smiled tightly at the sentiment, despite his pain.  
>"Oui, Mon Ami. Now find our friends, and hurry." Athos nodded, and carefully surveyed the area before unlocking the door and dashing off in search of their brothers.<p>

D'Artagnan breathed a sigh of relief - he was alone at last. He took the hand from his thigh and began to dig through the wound to find the ball. It smarted far worse than whenever Aramis had patched him up, but then, his injuries had never actually been life threatening before, so he had never had to accelerate his healing, except that time with Milady, and as she herself was a vampire, they had agreed not to out each other, as they would both be burned for it. It had actually made it easier to get her to trust him. One shunned monster to another. She told him the truth about what Thomas tried to do. He attempted to force himself on her - not that she would have needed to do anything other than erase his memory, she wanted vengeance for even the attempt of violation, and rightly so. That did not excuse her other murders, nor did it excuse the fact that she pointed a gun at Constance.  
>She had spoken in his mind then, as vampires like to do (a ridiculously disconcerting and frankly disturbing habit which he thought they should drop), and asked him "shall we show them a fight between monsters, little puppy?"<p>

Eventually, he got a hold of the ball and dug it from his flesh. He had to bite back the scream building in the back of his throat, making his lip bleed in the process. He couldn't risk Athos coming back here and seeing. Oh, the wound would still be bad, but it wouldn't kill him now. All he could do while he waited for his leg to repair itself was wait, and hope that Athos found the others so that they could get out of here fast.

Athos found Aramis with ease, a little roughed up but otherwise unharmed. The doors were ridiculously easy to kick down from the outside.  
>"d'Artagnan, is he alive?" The man demanded, gripping Athos' shirt front tightly, his eyes wild and desperate. Athos lifted his own hands to settle on Aramis' shoulders.<br>"He was when I left him. But likely he won't be if we don't find Porthos and get back to him soon. We have to hurry." Aramis nodded and Athos allowed him a bare moment to gather himself, and they set off to find their missing brother.

D'Artagnan had been giving himself some time to rest before trying to stand, but now he could here a familiar voice - it sounded like Porthos was being led out to the courtyard of the abandoned château they were being held at. His veins turned to ice as he realised what that meant.

Athos and Aramis realised it too, from where they were stood at the exit of a back kitchen, hidden just out of view of the main courtyard. Porthos was being dragged, kicking and fighting hard, to a home-made gallows. They stared on in horror - they had no weapons to shoot down their captors. They were frozen by the impossibility of the situation. Porthos could not be hanged. It couldn't be happening again.

But d'Artagnan was not so inhibited by his shock as the others. He could run now, injured leg be damned, and he was not going to let his friend die tonight. With uncanny speed, he swiped a dagger and sword from one of the Red Guards and took him out with a head-butt, turned on the spot to slice open the next man's chest with malevolent glee, manoeuvring himself until he stood between all of them and Porthos, a deadly human shield, breathing heavily but with eyes bright as fire. He may look up to all of his three friends, but he was the only wolf among them and as such, he is their Alpha. He was hard-wired to protect his pack to the death, and he would, now that it came down to it.

One of the red guards stepped forward, sword in hand,  
>"So loyal to vermin which belongs in the gutters, Monsieur Musketeer. Should have been drowned at birth, like the defective dog he is" D'Artagnan glared, and Athos wasn't sure he had ever seen anything more terrifying.<br>"You want to talk about dogs, you coward, you pig? Do you know what happens to cowardly pigs like you, do you?" Porthos's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest, but d'Artagnan knew this was the only way to keep the others safe. "They get eaten up by the Big, Bad Wolf". His eyes flashed, and he made himself change in front of his brothers.

This change was different than the others. He felt more powerful, bigger, and completely driven by the need to protect his pack. Before the red guards had time to get over the shock, he pounced on the first and crushed his windpipe with the weight of his paw. The next he bit into their shoulder and flung them against the wall of the châteaux, shattering their spine. It continued until all ten bodies were scattered across the cobblestones, blood dribbling between them.

The great wolf turned, panting happily, to his pack, who were safe now. But their faces were painted with expressions of horror. It cut him to the bone that Athos was staring at him with a look he had once reserved only for Milady. Monster, that look said. Monster, horror, danger, and worst of all: I trusted you.

Porthos had been wrong. They didn't understand. They never could.

With one look to the only friend who understood him, he turned tail and ran off into the night, not caring that his wound had reopened and would probably kill him. His pack was safe now, and they hated him. Without them, he'd be better off dying anyway.


End file.
